


Standing Together

by makeitmine



Category: Glee
Genre: Anxiety, Broken Bones, Community: kbl-reversebang, Depression, Discussion of Amputation, M/M, Medical Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:07:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2056731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeitmine/pseuds/makeitmine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt's life is going perfectly. He's a semester and a half away from graduating from NYADA and months away from marrying the love of his life. But a freak accident occurs that puts him in a wheelchair and tests everything in his and Blaine's lives. Can they get through to the other side with no repercussions and begin their happily ever after?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standing Together

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this year's Reversebang. For the second year in a row I had the pleasure of being teamed up with the amazing [Mardy](http://missmardybum.tumblr.com) and her incredible artwork. It's been a challenge writing something much angstier than I usually go for, but it's always so worth it in the end. Many thanks go to Ashleigh for the last-minute beta even while on vacation.

The scent of turkey bacon wafts through the loft and awakens Kurt from his slumber. He blinks the remnants of sleep out of his eyes and stretches, allowing his limbs to work their way out of the stiffness his mattress still causes every night. His right hand lands on Blaine’s now-cold pillow and he pulls it towards him, inhaling the sweet mix of hair gel, cologne, and sweat that only serves to drive Kurt crazy.

He lets go of the pillow to stand up, padding through the curtain and into their pseudo-kitchen. It’s not unusual for Blaine to cook breakfast while Kurt sleeps in, especially when his Tuesdays start late. Kurt’s never been the morning person that Blaine is, but an already cooked breakfast is the best way to get him out of bed early.

Blaine’s face brightens the moment Kurt enters the main space. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he sings from next to the stove.

“Morning.” Kurt snakes his arms around Blaine’s trim waist and presses his lips to his temple. “What’s on the menu this morning?”

“Eggs benedict, bacon, orange slices, and of course coffee.” Blaine stirs the Hollandaise sauce and tastes it to make sure it’s right. “Almost ready,” he says as he slips out of Kurt’s hold and reaches for the loaf of bread to toast it.

“Wonderful,” Kurt sighs. He pours a cup of coffee for himself and refreshes Blaine’s before carrying them over to the table. Five minutes later a plate full of delectable food is set in front of him as Blaine slides into the chair to his right and digs into his own breakfast.

It’s easier now, more refreshing, to spend a morning together than it was when Blaine came to New York two years ago. He took the time to learn who he is in the vast city, to not suffocate Kurt with continuous affection, and by the time Rachel announced she was ready to ready to move into Manhattan and reduce her commute time to the theater, Kurt knew it was time to ask Blaine to come back to the loft permanently. It wasn’t hard to convince him, but Mercedes made them promise monthly nights in with her and Sam to appease both friendships the couples have formed. When Blaine moved back in, he and Kurt compromised on an actual office space that now resides in what used to be Rachel’s makeshift bedroom, and they worked out a schedule as to who cooks when, when they’ll work on lines for shows they’re in and when they’ll be free to do louder rehearsals of songs and dances, and when one should go to the other if he’s having problems. Kurt sealed the agreements with his own surprise, an engagement ring that now shines on Blaine’s left hand, the silver gleaming against his darker skin. It was only fair for both to have one if they’re planning forever together.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Blaine says, “Text me this afternoon to remind me to go to the store. We’re out of eggs and milk.”

“Honey, I’ll be done with my classes first, I can go.”

“But you have your sound and lighting workshop today, Kurt. I know how bone tired you’ve been after working on all those rigs.”

“I’m not tired enough to forego picking up groceries,” Kurt replies around a forkful of eggs and sauce. “It’s not a problem for me.”

“Okay,” Blaine sighs. Kurt knows he’s only giving up the tiff because it’ll probably result in a surprise dessert for them to split. “And don’t forget about getting a birthday card for Artie. That’s next weekend.”

Kurt shakes his head. “I was planning on getting that Saturday when we meet with the caterers. Did you forget?”

Blaine freezes up. “Saturday?” he asks.

“Yes, Blaine, Saturday. I told you as I wrote it down in our planner.”

“Oh. Yeah.” The datebook, marking every meeting and fitting they had scheduled up to their wedding day, sat front and center on the desk. “You’re right, you did tell me and I had told Sam I’d go over to watch the Buckeyes game that afternoon. I’m sorry, I’ll call him and cancel.”

Kurt sighs in defeat. “At least it’s Halloween that day, so you’ll still see each other that night.”

“True. He’s going to be pissed I went with Hawkeye without consulting him.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Kurt says. He’s still not as into the comic book rage as they are, but knowing Blaine will be hanging around Santana’s party in a sleeveless shirt and carrying a bunch of arrows drives his own fantasies wild.

Blaine takes the final bite on his plate and stands up, taking his dishes over to the sink. “Shit, I’m about to be late for the train. You know how Dr. Mellon gets if you aren’t in Monologues and More two minutes before class.”

“Mmhmm,” Kurt hums. “Get going, I’ll clean up since I don’t have much to work on this morning.”

“Awesome, thank you.” He grabs his coat and messenger bag, then strolls back over to kiss Kurt goodbye. “Seven months and fifteen days,” he sighs against Kurt’s lips.

“And you’ll be a Hummel forever,” Kurt replies.

“Yeah, but you’ll also be an Anderson forever.” Blaine kisses him one last time and heads for the door. “Love you!” he calls out as he pulls it open.

“Love you, too!” Kurt says as Blaine steps out and closes the door. He finishes his breakfast and does the dishes, setting them back in the cabinets once they’ve dried as Blaine tends to leave them in the rack to irritate him. He takes a shower and goes through his skincare routine before picking out his outfits for the day: an oversized, gray cashmere sweater for his first class, paired with jeans and his Docs, and a black hoodie and yoga pants for his stagework class as they require the dark colors when he’s required to work on a show next month.

As Kurt gathers his second outfit and books up he can’t help but smile. Everything about his life now is wonderful. He’s marrying the most stunningly talented and charming man, his dad’s healthy and back in Ohio full-time after stepping down from Congress, he’s in the greatest city to exist, less than a year from graduating NYADA after summer seminars put him on track to finishing a semester early, and he has so many insanely talented friends around him. “Today is a good day,” he says, slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading out into the bustling streets of New York.

* * *

“Thank you, Blaine,” Professor Logans says after the final runthrough of Empty Chairs at Empty Tables. “Just watch that you aren’t going too sharp in the chorus.”

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to work on that.” Blaine gathers his sheet music off the stand and opens his binder to set it back in. Professor Logans, for her reputation as the top vocal coach at the school, is an absolute stickler about not coming in with wrinkled music, as Kurt learned his first semester after Santana yanked pages out of his hand while he was rehearsing.

“Keep up the fantastic work, though. If I were casting for Les Mis right now, you would be among my top choices for Marius.”

Blaine flushes red and grins embarrassedly. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll see you Thursday afternoon.”

“Of course, dear. Have a good evening,” she replies as he closes his bag, hoists it onto his shoulder, and departs the vocal studio.

When Blaine steps out of his lesson he knows something is amiss. The hallways are normally crowded with students on their way to classes or the cafeteria located in the basement. Today they’re desolate, and the few who are around are milling around whispering to each other. He glances around at the empty corridors and makes his way to his dramatic monologue lesson.

The one thing that gets to him, however, is the whispers and murmurs from the students.

_"Have they said who it was?"_

_"Not yet. I heard it was a senior, though."_

_"That must be awful. I'm praying that there's nothing seriously wrong with him."_

_"And his fiance goes here too? That must be horrible for both of them."_

By the time Blaine reaches his classroom he has a gist of the rumors. A freak accident occurred on one of the stages and a student is badly injured. He grimaces at the girl who claims the student passed away - it's all hearsay at the moment, nobody knows exactly what happened to cause it. He slides into his desk and smiles across the room at Courtney, the only other student to have arrived. "Interesting day, huh?" he asks her.

"Tell me about it," she replies. "Do you know what happened?"

"No more than any other student. For all we know he could be walking across to Starbucks and laughing at all the stories being fabricated about his demise."

"True. Leave it to NYADA to fake someone's death."

"Nah, the kid's alive, sadly," Thomas states as he strides in and takes his seat. Blaine holds back an eyeroll of Kurt proportions. Thomas' arrogance and distaste at the state of his "competition" makes everyone's tales of Jesse St. James at McKinley sound like child's play.

"Thanks so much for your compassion," Courtney says. "Just because he's alive doesn't mean he isn't suffering from some pretty serious injuries."

Thomas shrugs. "Serves him right. Probably one of those precious boys whose mommy and daddy will sue the school for their negligence anyway when it was his fault."

"Could you be any more of a dick right now?" Blaine shouts, finally fed up with his mouth. "A classmate is hurt and could have ruined his career. The least you could do is show him and his family some god damn sympathy while he recovers."

A few of the students congregating in the back applaud Blaine's outburst. Thomas shakes his head and turns away, instead focusing on the textbook for class. Blaine fumes and takes his phone out to text Kurt, who's still in his workshop. _If you hear anything about the student injured lmk. Don't forget about the groceries! <3_

Professor Pederson doesn't arrive until several minutes after the class was set to begin. "I'm sorry, everyone, but it's in my best interest to cancel our class today," he says. A few students ask him why before he explains, "As most of you heard, there was an incident on one of the workshop stages today. A student in the lighting workshop was pinned under a rig that wasn't mounted properly."

Blaine freezes up. "I'm sorry, sir, did you say the lighting workshop?"

He nods. "Yes, Mr. Anderson. Emergency crews are busy pulling him out, but they're certain he's-"

The words blur together as Blaine sprints out of the room, forgetting his books and belongings. It can't be Kurt. He's safe and sound away from the catastrophe. Blaine pounds on the elevator call button, willing it to hurry to his current floor. When it arrives after what feels like an hour, he squeezes through the opening doors and presses the button to the main floor where the theaters are located. Thankfully nobody is in the car, and he takes the duration of the three floor descent to pace around and calm himself down.

As soon as the elevator reaches the second floor, Blaine maneuvers his way through a cluster of curious student, harried professors attempting to evacuate the surrounding area, and a group of New York's hardest workers barricading the entrance to the stage Kurt should be on. A look around gives him no sign of Kurt. "Excuse me," Blaine asks the fireman directly in front of the door, "my fiance was supposed to be in this class? Do you know how he is?"

With little movement to his face, the fireman brushes him off. "I'm sorry, sir, we cannot give any information out about who is or is not injured."

Blaine sighs. "Okay. Can you at least tell me about the person"

"No, sir, I cannot." A muffled voice grabs the fireman's attention on his radio, and he acknowledges the speaker before turning back to the crowd. "Everyone, can we please make a clearing as they wheel the stretcher out to the elevators?" The students and professors oblige and allow for a small pathway. The fireman gets back on his radio to alert whoever he was speaking to that things were clear.

The commotion grows the moment the doors open and paramedics wheel the stretcher out through the crowd. Blaine cranes his neck to check the victim underneath the white sheet and oxygen mask.

A familiar shock of brown hair rolls by, and Blaine's entire body sinks to the floor.

* * *

Blaine can barely register anything going on around him. His world is crashing down and the love of his life, the man he's promising forever to next summer, is badly hurt and he doesn't know the severity. It's worse now than when Kurt was attacked by the thugs in the alley a few years back - Blaine could sympathize with everything Kurt went through, though the injuries were less than what Blaine suffered in his beating. Now he has no idea what happened and to what extent Kurt's recovery will take, if it even happens.

A warm pair of hands reaches under his shoulders and lifts him off the ground. Through tear-soaked eyes Blaine recognizes Madame Tibideaux as his savior. She walks him through the few remaining spectators to the elevator, where she hands him a handkerchief. "He's going to be okay, Mr. Anderson," she says soothingly.

Blaine nods imperceptibly. The shock hasn't worn off, and he's unsure it even will before he sees Kurt's face up close. He dabs at his eyes with the handkerchief before handing it back to Madame Tibideaux, who refuses it. "Keep it. I'm sure there are bound to be more tears in the coming days."

She guides him out when they reach the ground floor, through the lobby and office area, and out to the busy Manhattan afternoon street to hail a taxi for him. He's stunned when she climbs in right behind. "NYU Hospital, please," Madame Tibideaux informs the driver as she closes the door behind her.

"You didn't have to come," Blaine says softly, his voice already hoarse from the sobs he let out outside the theater doors.

"Blaine, I want to make sure your fiance is fine as well, as I would if it happened to any other student under my watch."

He's vaguely certain Madame Tibideaux is only trying to save face, making sure whatever happened to Kurt and his recovery won't haunt the image of the school she's always upheld. "Thank you, but I think I can manage, Madame Tibideaux."

"Please drop the formalities and call me Carmen right now," she says. "At least while off campus. I know how it feels to watch the love of my life deal with trauma and come back."

"What happened?" Blaine asks.

"My dear Leigh suffered a massive stroke twelve years ago. Being there, not knowing what happened, let alone what will happen in the future...you're going to be suffering as much as Kurt will at times, trust me."

"Is he fine now?"

Madame Tibideaux briefly smiles at Blaine. "She recovered quite well other than being unable to use her right side. And I was so thankful for that because five years later they discovered a lump in her breast too late. I had the luxury of three months to say goodbye to her rather than being told she was gone."

"I'm so sorry, Mada- Carmen." Blaine had been well aware of the speculation regarding Madame Tibideaux's orientation, but he's frankly surprised at how she confirmed it so easily even when he addressed it wrong.

"You and Kurt are incredibly lucky, Blaine," she continues. "You have so many more rights presented to you as a couple than Leigh and I ever fathomed. We were together for thirty years and looked down upon as both an interracial couple and women. I asked her to marry me a year after she recovered but she refused. If we had to travel to do it, she wasn't going to entertain the thought. It had to be here in New York."

"What if we don't get to? What if he's too sick or damaged to marry me? What if..."

"I don't want to hear another word of doubt out of your mouth, Mr. Anderson."

"Yes, ma'am, sorry."

The remainder of the ride seems to crawl by until the cab pulls up in front of the hospital's entrance. Madame Tibideaux hands her card over to pay for the ride and departs the cab, holding the doors open for Blaine as they enter the hospital and make their way to the front desk.

A bored looking redhead (horribly dyed, Kurt's voice rang in Blaine's head, and he wills himself not to break down again) glances at them as they walked up. "Can I help you?" she asks in a monotone voice.

"My fiance was brought here and I wanted to know how he's doing," Blaine replies shakily.

Madame Tibideaux grabs his hand to calm him down. "We're checking the status of Kurt Hummel. He was involved in an accident at New York Academy of Dramatic Arts this afternoon."

"Hummel," the receptionist repeats to herself as she types something on her computer. Blaine nearly yells at her for taking her time as she scrolls down her screen. "It says he's in surgery now. You can have a seat over there and I'll make a note for the doctor to update you as she knows more."

"Does it say what's wrong?" Blaine asks, more desperate to find out what's going on.

She rolls her eyes. "The doctor will update you, sir. Please take a seat in the lounge."

He's pulled away from the desk before he can cause a bigger scene. "Blaine," Madame Tibideaux says, "why don't you make some phone calls? I'm sure there are people who need to be here with you tonight."

It hits him hard. He has to call Burt, and Rachel, and everyone. He fishes through his pockets for his phone before realization hits. "I left it in Professor Pederson's class," he sighs, already feeling the salty burn around his eyes again.

Madame Tibideaux hands hers to him. "You can use mine."

"Thank you," Blaine says as he accepts it. He thankfully has the first number, the most important one, memorized, and he dials it, trembling all the way through.

A familiar voice answers on the third ring. "Hummel Tire and Lube, how can I help ya?"

"Burt, it's Blaine," he whispers.

"Blaine? What's going on, kid?" Blaine is hit with a humongous feeling of deja vu, remembering the unease he felt calling the last time Kurt was hospitalized. "Are you still there?" Burt asks again.

"Kurt's in surgery. Some lights fell down during his class today and pinned him. I-I don't know how he's doing, but it's pretty bad."

"Oh, hell," Burt mutters. "Where are you right now?"

"At NYU's hospital. I left my phone at NYADA, so I'm calling from Madame Tibideaux's right now."

"Okay. Look, have Rachel update me once you get a hold of her. I'll see if I can make it out there tomorrow to give him some time to recover...he is going to, isn't he?"

"I hope so," Blaine squeaks out, fully engulfed in tears now.

"Alright," Burt says. "I love you both, okay?"

"I love you, too. I'll see you when you get here." Blaine ends the call and hands the phone back to Madame Tibideaux.

"Don't you have some other calls to make?" she asks.

"I'm going to call our friend who lives in the NYU apartments. Thank you, Carmen."

Blaine heads back to the desk. "Look, sir," the receptionist starts, "if you ask again I will have security escort you off the premises."

"That's not what I'm asking about," Blaine cuts her off. "I need a campus phone to call a friend who lives here."

She shrugs and hands him the line. "Which housing?"

"Founders." She dials a number and he's soon connected with a monitor there. "Hi, I need connected to Katherine Wilde's room?"

"Just a moment, sir."

Despite not knowing several of them in high school, Kitty has seamlessly woven herself into their group since she came to New York two months ago. She insisted NYU was always her top choice school and she had no intention of reconciling with Artie when she arrived, but the passion between them feels as electrifying as it was two and a half years ago when they began dating. She still has her occasional moments of cutting everyone down, but her friendship with Marley and Unique has softened her quite a bit since that year in New Directions.

"Hello?" she answers.

"Kitty?"

"Blaine? Why are you calling this phone?”

"I'm at the hospital. Something happened to Kurt this afternoon and he's badly hurt and in surgery right now."

She gasps. "Oh, my lord! I'll be right down."

"Can you call everyone first?" Blaine asks. "I left my phone at school and had to borrow our dean's cell just to get a hold of Kurt's dad, and I don't think I can handle informing anyone else without becoming a sobbing mess."

"Okay, yeah. I'll do that then I'll be down. And really, I've seen you cry over the ending of The Notebook. You'll do it again soon."

"Thanks, Kitty," he says, a small smile gracing his lips for the first time. "See you in a few."

"See you," Kitty replies before the line goes dead. Blaine hangs up and thanks the receptionist, who only acknowledges him with a grunt, and he walks away.

Rather than joining Madame Tibideaux in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs littering the waiting area, Blaine makes his way to a deserted corner and sits on a loveseat, hands clasped in his legs. He needs to speak to someone who's only going to listen, even if they haven't had the best relationship since Blaine reached his teenage years and began questioning everything taught to him.

"God?" he begins, staring up at the cold white ceiling. "If you're really there, can you do me a favor? Just...can you make sure Kurt makes it through? I know it's strange, since he doesn't believe in you and everything, but you perform all these miracles every day and I thought I'd add one more to your list.

"Kurt is my world, you know. He the first thing on my mind when I wake up and my last thought when I go to sleep. We're months away from taking the next step and confirming our love in front of our friends and family. Some may say you would disapprove of this, but I am confident you believe love is love, no matter the genders involved. We are every bit as committed and determined to make this work as my parents have been, as his father and stepmother have been, and every other couple."

Blaine starts choking up and struggles to breathe. "Please don't take him,” he cries. “I can't live without him - the time we were broken up was absolutely horrifying and I was close to taking drastic measures. He is my soul, my heart, and every ounce of being in me, and my life without Kurt in it wouldn’t be life at all.”

He can’t continue as the tears fully overtake him and he starts wailing loud enough to scare a couple kids on the other side of the waiting room. He loses track of everything going on until a pair of arms wrap around him and Kitty’s voice brings him back to reality. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she repeats to him, no matter how much neither of them believe it will be.

* * *

When Kurt wakes up, he’s in pain.

Pain is actually a vast understatement; his entire body is screaming from sheer torture. His chest hurts, his arms hurt, but his legs are the worst. He attempts to move them only to find they won’t, and when he finally has the strength to look at them he’s finally aware of why. They’re completely encased in plaster and hanging from the ceiling above his bed, which he now realizes is in a hospital.

“What the fuck?” he attempts to say, but it comes out strained from his grogginess and a dry mouth. He begins coughing and can’t stop.

“Kurt? Oh, Kurt!” he hears Rachel exclaim before she rushes to his bedside and hugs him too tightly. “I’m so glad you’re alive!”

“Rachel, let him be. I’m sure he’s still a little sore from everything,” his dad says, and Kurt is bewildered.

“Dad?” he asks.

“I’m right here, kid,” Burt says, sliding in between the bed and Rachel and sitting carefully enough to not disrupt the multitude of wires and tubes attached to Kurt’s body. “How ya’ feelin’?”

“Like I was run over by a semi. Where’s Blaine?”

Rachel reaches around and caresses Kurt’s shoulder carefully. “Sam took him down to get something to eat. He hadn’t left your side since the moment you came out of surgery. Do you want me to text him that you’re awake?”

“Sure,” Kurt nods before the pain in his neck flares up. “Shit. What happened?”

“I think we’ll wait for Blaine to get here to inform you. He knows what happened better than any of us do.”

Kurt attempts to recall his entire day before realizing he can’t remember anything that happened after he picked up lunch. He got a ham and swiss panini, he remembers, because he wanted something quick and hot to keep him satisfied until he was out of the lighting workshop…but after that, what happened? He should have made it through there, stopped at the grocery as soon as he made it back to Brooklyn, and worked on dinner before Blaine came home from his final class.

Another flare of pain shoots through Kurt’s ribs as he tries to sit up. “Ow, ow,” he grumbles before Burt stops him.

“Take it easy, there. Maybe once the doctor comes in to check on you he’ll give you some more pain medication, but don’t try to move so much and disrupt the healing.”

“Dad, this bed is horribly uncomfortable. Don’t these places care enough about their patients to not stick them on a stack of plywood?”

“You know, it's still probably a bit nicer than I had to deal with at Lima Memorial," Burt chuckles, trying hard to get Kurt to lighten up about the situation. He remains stoic and pissed, though.

"Ugh. Can we at least splurge on a VIP room so I can have a bit of comfort? How long am I even going to be in here?"

A pair of feet squeak along the waxy laminate of the hallway as Blaine rushes into the room. "Kurt!" he exclaims, rushing in and nearly causing a trailing Sam to collide into him when he stops in the doorway.

"Hey," Kurt says meekly. He doesn't fail to notice how terrible Blaine looks. He's still wearing the cardigan and jeans he had on last time Kurt saw him in the morning, the bow tie is undone and hanging limply through the collar of his polo, and his hair is wild and sticking up through the matted remnants of gel. But his face tells Kurt everything, from the stubbly shadow along his jawline to the bags under his quite reddened eyes.

"God, I'm so glad you're alive," Blaine says as he come forward. Burt and Rachel move away from the bed as he pads closer and leans down to gingerly embrace Kurt, mindful of the injuries Kurt is still unaware of. "I thought I lost you when they wheeled you out of the room."

"What happened? They wouldn't tell me anything until you got back and the doctor hasn't been in yet. And even though I'm in an immense amount of pain, I can still threaten the state of your ties."

Blaine is taken aback for a second at Kurt's demanding nature still shining through the injuries. "Okay." He inhales slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking Kurt's hand in his. "There was a malfunction with the lighting rig in your workshop. Nobody knows what happened yet, but they fell down and pinned you underneath. Your right leg is broken in five places, your left in two, a few ribs are cracked, and it's possible you may have a concussion."

Kurt nods slowly, processing everything out of Blaine's mouth. "Shit."

"Yeah, I know. Luckily it didn't damage your spinal cord at least, or anything more vital."

He fails to see how the casts on his legs make him lucky. This is New York, where if you aren’t rushing somewhere you’re going too slow. The dread of learning how to use crutches already sinks into Kurt’s mind, laughing and taunting his bad luck.

A tall, plump woman in a white coat and knockoff-Kate Spade blouse knocks on the door. “Oh, Kurt, I wasn’t aware you were awake!” she says, entering into the cramped room and coming to Kurt’s side. “I’m Dr. Linda Woolerey, your orthopedic surgeon. How are you feeling right now?”

“I hurt,” is all he cares to say. He turns to Blaine, who only squeezes his hand more.

“That’s understandable,” she replies. “I understand it was quite the unexpected accident that happened.”

“Most accidents are unexpected.” Burt shoots a look over to Kurt, telling him to behave.

“But since last night and into this morning, I’ve learned what a patient, caring fiance you must have. He’s already asked me for items and exercises to help make your recovery go as smoothly as possible. However, he is slightly hindering my need to check your vitals.”

Blaine jumps off the bed and out of her way. “Sorry, Dr. Woolerey,” he says.

Dr. Woolerey smiles as she writes down numbers off the blood pressure monitor’s readings. “I’d keep him around if I were you, Kurt. There aren’t too many good guys like him around anymore, and if my husband doesn’t watch it he may have some competition for my heart.”

“Oh, he doesn’t have to worry about that,” Rachel pipes up. “Blaine’s only foray into dating the opposite sex was fantastic enough for him to never want another woman. There was no way she’d ever match up to my impeccable personality.”

Burt stands up and takes Rachel’s hand. “You know, I think we’ll head downstairs and keep Sam company, don’t you agree?”

“But Mr. Hummel…” Rachel tries to protest and Burt drags her out of the room.

Dr. Woolerey chuckles. “She’s a handful, isn’t she?”

“My best friend for five years now,” Kurt replies. “Just don’t ask about her show or she’ll never shut up about it.”

“I made that mistake already. Now, do you mind if I check how your heart and lungs are sounding, Kurt?”

“Go ahead.” He waits for her to get her stethoscope in place and listens to her commands to breathe deeply. Each breath ends up drawing more pain up through his ribs, and he grimaces slightly each time.

“You sound good to me,” she says as she sticks the stethoscope back into her pocket. “No internal injuries other than the four ribs on your right side, so that’s a good thing. They should be healed in a month or so.”

Kurt nods. “And my legs?”

Dr. Woolerey pulls one of the chairs from the side of the room over and settles in. “Kurt,” she starts hesitantly, “I don’t know how much Blaine and your father explained to you about your injuries. Your left tibia and fibula endured clean breaks that should not be a problem. I’d say probably twelve to fourteen weeks to heal those.”

“Okay, so I can walk again in like three months?” he asks.

She purses her lips together and shakes her head. “Unfortunately, your right leg took the brunt of the impact. The tibia is broken in three places and the fibula in one, but it broke through the skin. But your femur was basically shattered. I had to go in and insert a steel rod to stabilize it. Not to mention any possibly torn tendons or muscles that could have happened, but I need to wait for the swelling to dissipate before I can examine it again.”

The diagnosis sends a chill down Kurt’s spine. “A rod? Why?”

“Because with the amount of fragments the bone split into, there would be no way for it to repair without losing the shape of the leg,” she says. “This way when your cells begin to regenerate and fuse together, you’ll still be able to use the leg and not have it limp.”

“And when my bone’s healed you’ll remove it?”

“I’m sorry, Kurt, but it’s a permanent fixture.”

“Permanent?” Kurt groans and falls back against his pillow.

“Kurt, it’s okay,” Blaine says in an attempt to soothe his anxiety. “You’ll probably never realize it’s there.”

“Blaine’s right,” Dr. Woolerey adds, “except for when you’ll need to go through airport security.”

“Great, so now I have to explain to TSA that I’m not a terrorist, it’s just a rod holding my damn leg together,” Kurt retorts. “Fine, how long until you can take this cast off?”

“Probably closer to sixteen-to-twenty weeks to heal everything. Of course when your lower leg is better we’ll switch to one that only covers your thigh to protect it and give you a little mobility in your knee and ankle.”

“So five months and I’ll be better.” Kurt thinks he can handle that time frame. He’ll probably have to take another semester off from school, but it’ll only put him in line to graduate when Blaine does since he started in winter.

“Not exactly,” Dr. Woolerey sighs. “Until I can remove the cast from your left leg you’ll be confined to a wheelchair. From there you’ll graduate to crutches and some physical therapy to get moving, but the bulk of therapy won’t occur until your right leg is one hundred percent. And you’ll more than likely need the assistance of a cane on that side as it’ll be so weak.”

He becomes more exasperated at everything she adds in. “How long until I can fully walk then?” he shouts.

“My best estimation? Ten to twelve months,” she says.

“A year?” Kurt finally blows up. “You’re saying I might not be able to walk without anything to hold on to for a fucking year?”

Dr. Woolerey doesn’t break at his fury. “Kurt, as I said, this is only an estimation. It may be longer or shorter, it all depends on how well the muscles respond after so much non usage.”

Kurt brings his hands up to rub his temples, his eyes burning. “You don’t understand, Dr. Woolerey. I’m getting married in June. I need to be able to walk down the aisle to my future husband.”

“I’m sorry, Kurt, but chances are unless you postpone the date, it probably won’t happen.”

“No, no, no,” he says over and over until he feels Blaine reach in and hold him to his torso. Kurt begins sobbing into his chest. “It’s not fair,” he cries out, “nothing is fair.”

“Shhh,” Blaine whispers in his ear, adding a kiss that does nothing to calm Kurt down. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Kurt,” Dr. Woolerey says, “you’re a young man who is in peak health. If you push through it can happen, but I can’t guarantee it. Take everything throughout your recovery one day at a time. Some days will be harder than others, especially right after you leave here. But in my opinion, if you do want to walk down the aisle, I would push the date back six months or so to lessen your stress.”

He nods, though the thought has already flown his mind. “Thank you, doctor.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll be back before dinner to check on you again,” she says.

Kurt listens to Dr. Woolerey stand and shuffle out of the room. Once he’s sure she’s gone, he stares up at Blaine, whose own eyes have gone glassy with tears. “What do you think, honey?” he asks him.

Blaine gently slides his hand up and down Kurt’s back. “I think there’s no reason for us to postpone the wedding. We’ve been engaged for two and a half years now and just finalized the date what, in July? We don’t need to hold off on it any longer.”

“What if she’s right and I won’t be able to walk down the aisle?”

“Kurt, believe me when I say that nothing is going to keep me from marrying you, and definitely not any potential disabilities.”

For the first time since he woke up, Kurt is able to smile. Blaine plants a kiss on top of Kurt’s scalp and continues to hold him, as if it’s impossible to let him go.

* * *

The eight days Kurt is hospitalized are the longest eight days of Blaine's life.

Sleeping alone in the loft doesn’t come easy, so after a fitful night of rest he finally rises for the day to get a run in. A shower, shave, breakfast, and coffee later the anxiety of not being with Kurt gets to him and he ends up usually catching the 8:34 train into Manhattan rather than the 9:16 one that would get him there right as visiting hours begin. He stays with Kurt all day, watching every mundane reality show they’ve seen dozens of times while Kurt sleeps a lot. Burt stays in town through the weekend and does the same, switching out whenever any of their friends stop by to visit. Everyone tries to; Sam, being between bookings at the moment and lonely while Mercedes is out on tour and can’t cancel dates to come back, is there every day. Rachel comes in the mornings and all day Monday when her show’s dark. Artie and Kitty, still avoiding the ‘are they or aren’t they’ questions, stop by together after their classes end. Santana and Elliott bring plenty of homemade goodies she would have served at her now-cancelled Halloween party for everyone to enjoy Saturday afternoon.

Madame Tibideaux graciously allows Blaine to miss the remainder of the week and the day Kurt is released, but he still has to attend classes on Monday and Tuesday. While he expects to have a difficult time being away from Kurt for that long, even with Rachel and Sam spending their days with him, he doesn’t expect the stares and whispers that follow him throughout his classes. NYADA students have apparently been working the rumor mill throughout the week, and Blaine loses count of how many times he has to correct someone asking if Kurt is paralyzed or on life support as they heard from a friend of a friend. It gets to the point where he is only looking forward to the end of his final class and how quickly he can get down to NYU to be with Kurt.

Dr. Woolerey is impressed at Kurt’s skilled movements when she brings in the wheelchair he’ll be using until the first cast comes off. “Yeah, having a friend who was paralyzed when he was seven does help out with that,” he says nonchalantly. When Blaine snickers, Kurt sends him a look. “Have you never heard about our Proud Mary number the first year of glee club?”

“No?” he replies.

Kurt sighs and shakes his head. “One of Artie’s biggest moments. We planned the performance being all in wheelchairs until Jane Addams Academy stole our setlist and used it.”

“Huh. Good thing we didn’t steal your set list the following year.”

“No, you just stole a fascinating member of the group.”

Blaine chuckles and sets his hands on the wheelchair handles to guide Kurt back into his room. “Last I remember, _I_ did not convince you to come to Dalton.”

“Yeah, yeah, but you got me into the Warblers,” Kurt grins. "Now come on, I heard they're bringing cheesecake with the dinner tonight and I don't want to miss any moment with my true love."

"Your true love?" Blaine questions as Kurt excitedly rolls back towards his room. "I resent that remark, Kurt Hummel. Did cheesecake buy you an engagement ring as well?"

The easygoing mood Kurt had finally entered for the first time since he awoke dissipates by the time Blaine arrives on discharge morning. "It's about time," he grumbles as Blaine slips through the door with a change of clothes. "I thought you'd be here early today?"

"Honey, you know visiting hours aren't until 10," Blaine says, "and there's a building on 21st on fire so the bus driver had to detour away from where the emergency crews are staged."

"Whatever, just give me my clothes so I can get out of this polyester monstrosity." Blaine sets the bag on the side of the bed for Kurt to open up. As he does, his face twists into disgust. "Sweats? Seriously?"

"It's chilly out today now that it's November, and I doubt your favorite skinny jeans will fit over the casts."

“Chalk up another loss to this fucking ordeal,” Kurt mutters. He slips the gown off and tosses it on the hospital floor, then struggles to pull the hoodie (one of Blaine's NYADA ones he usually only wears to rehearsals) over his head. The pants aren't a problem until he realizes he needs to stand up to pull them up to his waist, a disaster waiting to happen if he attempts it in his casts. "A little help, Blaine?" he asks.

"Of course, honey." Blaine is quickly at his side, ready to hold on as Kurt pulls the pants up. He winces as Blaine catches a fall around his ribs, still sore even though Dr. Woolerey claims they're healing nicely. "There you go. Want me to wheel you into the bathroom to fix your hair up?"

Kurt shakes his head. "What's the point?" he asks dejectedly. "It's not like I'm going to be anywhere other than the loft or here for a long time."

Blaine’s heart falls. Kurt has always been the one to make sure he looks presentable at all times; even the weekend they decided to repaint the loft he dressed in a designer tee (three seasons in the past, apparently, but still probably worth a good sum of money had it been ruined) and perfectly styled hair. To hear that he isn’t interested in looking his best hurts, even though Blaine knows it’s probably in response to everything Kurt has been through in the last week.

“Okay,” he says quietly. The room goes quiet other than a Gossip Girl rerun showing on television. Blaine helps Kurt settle back into his bed, then sits down in the chair, biding the time away until Dr. Woolerey stops in with the discharge papers.

It takes until noon, two episodes and countless plays of 2048 on Blaine’s phone later, for her to pop in. “Good afternoon, boys,” she says brightly. “Ready to bust out of here, Kurt?”

“More than anything,” he replies.

“Excellent. I’ll just need to check your vitals one last time and then a nurse will come up to wheel you out.” She goes through her routine, jotting down the numbers and a few notes, then gives Kurt a manila folder bursting with sheets of paper. “This has the list of things you can do to start your therapy as soon as you feel up to it, your prescriptions, numbers for a few colleagues of mine in Brooklyn so you don’t have to travel all the way out here if you’re unsure of something you’re feeling, and a list of caretaker tips for Blaine. Do either of you have any more questions?”

Kurt shakes his head. “No, Doctor.”

“I actually do,” Blaine chimes in. “Do we need to add anything into our apartment to support Kurt? It’s a loft, so the only door he’d have to deal with is our bathroom, and it is fairly small for a wheelchair.”

“That’s a good question. You can go to Home Depot and pick up some support bars as something Kurt can grab on to in places he’ll need them, especially in the bathroom and shower. If the wheelchair doesn’t fit, you can get a portable commode at a medical supply store and keep it nearby.”

“Just what I need, my own toilet,” Kurt mutters under his breath.

Blaine ignores him. “Also I know you said to stay with him as much as possible, but I, of course, have classes to attend five days a week. Is it fine to have Rachel come over while I’m gone to take care of him, and Sam on Wednesdays when she has her show?”

“Absolutely,” Dr. Woolerey says. “The more support you have around Kurt, the better his recovery will go.”

‘Great. I think that’s everything.”

“Alright.” She gathers her charts up and turns to the door. “It’s been wonderful taking care of you, Kurt, and I’ll see you on the 10th for a checkup.”

The moment Dr. Woolerey is out of hearing range Kurt begins complaining. “I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Blaine.”

Blaine doesn’t want to get into an argument ten minutes before Kurt is out of the hospital. “Look, honey, you’re not going to be able to do much around the loft. Rachel will take care of you, and I already made her promise not to enforce her diet on you.”

“This isn’t fair, why do I have to deal with all of this?”

“I wish I knew.” He stands back up to move to the edge of Kurt’s bed next to him. “I wish I could switch with you. You’d probably glare my bones into healing within three days.”

Kurt stifles a giggle. “Please, three days? You’d be on your feet after two.”

“See? Nothing is allowed to survive the wrath of Kurt Hummel.” Blaine goes in for a soft kiss. “I love you, Kurt, and I’m going to do everything I can to help you get better.”

“I know, I love you too,” Kurt replies. He rests his forehead against Blaine’s, noticeably less on edge than he was two minutes prior.

They don’t move, other than caressing each other’s hands and quick smooches, until an orderly named Deanne arrives. “Kurt? Are you…oh, sorry, guys.”

Blaine separates from Kurt and turns towards Deanne flushing in embarrassment. “Sorry, it’s been kind of a rough week,” he says sheepishly.

“I totally understand,” Deanne says. “But hey, now you get to take him home with you! That’s got to help your week out a bit.”

“Of course it does.” He squeezes Kurt’s hand and glances at him. “He’s my entire life and I wasn’t about to lose him again.”

“You won’t,” Kurt whispers. He doesn’t respond physically to Blaine’s touch, but the sentiment is still lying underneath.

Deanne strolls over to where the wheelchair Kurt will be using outside the hospital is parked by the window, unlocks the brakes, and wheels it closer to the bed. “Care for some VIP service on your way out, Kurt?” she asks.

“It’s like you’ve known me for years.” He struggles to get up and balance until Blaine stands and guides him over to the wheelchair. As Kurt settles in, Blaine gathers the remaining belongings that hadn’t been packed away to make sure he won’t have to make another long trip out to the hospital. Deanne begins pushing Kurt out of the room and down to the elevator banks, Blaine trailing behind, hoping things can only improve from here.

* * *

Kurt normally considers Thanksgiving his favorite holiday. It’s a time where he can express how grateful he is for the people in his life and hope the future brings him even more delights. It’s always been a day full of surprises, from the unknowingly last one with his mother where they went to Disney World, to the warm and bubbling holiday mere days after welcoming Carole and Finn into the family, to a memorable phone call made just before New Directions’ final sectionals performance. It’s a day for food and love, and Kurt always expresses his love with an incredibly cooked meal for his friends, all adopting the “orphan holiday” tradition he and Rachel started their first year in the city.

It’s difficult for him to get excited this year. The day falls just twenty-two days after he came home from the hospital and the day before the one month anniversary of the accident. While his ribs have fully healed according to Dr. Woolerey’s latest rounds of X-rays completed on Monday, he’s still unable to perform even the smallest of tasks. The casts on his legs are heavy, hot, and itchy to the point he sent Rachel out one morning to will some extra wire hangers from the dry cleaners. He lays in bed most of the time, only moving to the wheelchair for meals or when Blaine comes home from school. Even something as simple as whipping up a turkey sandwich is too much for Kurt as he can’t reach the counter from his position. It hurts to give up his favorite cooking duties, but Mercedes assures him she’ll have everything under control.

When Kurt awakens in the morning it’s too entirely too much clanging and clattering coming from outside the curtain. “What the hell?” he grumbles, turning onto his right side as much as his legs allow him to.

“Sam said they were coming over early to get everything set up,” Blaine replies from next to him.

“At least tell me it’s past sunrise.”

He feels the mattress shift as Blaine turns to check his bedside clock. “6:18.”

“Goddamn it,” Kurt says. “Tell them to keep it down so I can rest.”

Blaine turns around and throws an arm around Kurt’s waist. “Mmm, can’t move from under the covers.”

“Blaine Devon Anderson, only one of us is capable of walking out there and telling Sam and Mercedes that they’re waking up an invalid who needs his beauty sleep. Now go do it before you discover just how dangerous hardened plaster can become.”

“Fine,” Blaine huffs out. He gets up and pads across the room to their dresser, briefly stumbling into the wheelchair in the darkness, to pull on a pair of flannel pants and soon disappears through the curtain. Kurt closes his eyes and starts to drift off, only to be jostled out of his relaxing state when Blaine comes back. “Kitty came with them to make her mom’s cinnamon rolls for breakfast. They should be ready in an hour.”

“Great.” Kurt’s not even hungry - the pain medication he’s been taking has messed with his appetite more often than not. He’s also still wary of letting Kitty into his home. He knows she’s friends with Blaine and Sam, and she and Artie have this…whatever going on between them. But she’s still rude in a mean way, the complete opposite of when Santana is rude out of love. Everything she said and did back when Kurt was working at the Lima Bean still resonates with him, and he doesn’t know if he has it within him to entirely forgive her.

He feels Blaine curl back into him. “Hey,” Blaine whispers in his ear, “I know you’re not in a thankful mood this time around but it’ll be okay. You’re healing well, all of our friends are going to be here, and every day brings us closer to our wedding. Don’t let this dampen the day for you because you’re still down from the accident. Before you know it you’ll be better and walking and my husband.” A gently press of Blaine’s lips on Kurt’s neck punctuates his message. “I love you, Kurt.”

“I love you, too,” Kurt says back. Within minutes he hears a tell-tale snuffling announcing Blaine’s drift away from consciousness. He lays still, even though his thigh is already showing signs of the pain medication he took before bed last night having worn off, and finally falls asleep just before Mercedes comes in to wake them for breakfast.

The cinnamon rolls are actually quite delicious, and Kurt somehow lets Blaine talk him into splitting a second one with him. Once the dishes are washed and the remaining rolls are saved for everyone else, Mercedes and Kitty start in on preparing the turkey and stuffing. Kurt wheels himself over to the living room area, where Blaine and Sam have decided on watching a Marvel movie marathon over the Macy’s Parade. Friends arrive throughout the morning - Rachel with the pies she picked up at the best bakery near her apartment on the Lower East Side, Artie with appetizers that he claims he spent all evening slaving over, to which Kitty laughs and kisses his cheek, Elliott and his boyfriend, Justin, with several potato dishes, and Santana just before everything is ready with several bottles of wine and vodka - and Brittany.

“Kurt!” Brittany calls out as she bounds through the door and towards him. He’s forgotten how strong her hugs can be, even seated. “I heard you’re Artie’s brother now?”

“Excuse me?” he asks, still in her grip.

“Well, your legs don’t work so you two are now brothers, right?”

Kurt glares at Santana. “She came down from Boston after their classes let out Tuesday, I couldn’t say no.”

“Thanks.” He turns back to Brittany. “Britt, my legs are fine. They’re a little damaged right now, but I’ll still be able to use them in a few months. The chair is only a burden but it’s not going to be a permanent fixture for me.”

“Excuse me?” he hears Artie call out. He, Blaine, and Sam had gone into the bedroom for a Skype call with Tina before she and her parents ate, and they were now exiting. “It’s a burden to you?”

“Just temporarily. Once my left cast comes off I’ll be out of here and on crutches.”

Artie rolls up to him quickly enough that Brittany and Santana barely scramble out of the way. “Oh, yeah? Well think about this: at least you’ll still have the use of your legs once this is all over. Of all the outcomes that could have come out of your accident, I’d say you got pretty damn lucky. I mean, compared to paralysis, either temporary like Quinn’s was or permanent like mine, or even death? This ‘burden’ doesn’t mean shit to someone who’s lived in it for thirteen years.”

“Artie, that’s not what I meant and-”

“So what did you mean? ‘You know, I’m grateful to have survived and have my fiance and friends sacrificing much of their lives to help me recuperate, but I really wish I didn’t have to deal with this junky piece of metal.’ You’re acting like you’re too good to deal with it, and for me that’s incredibly demeaning.”

Kurt can only think of one time when Artie lashed out at anyone in this manner, back after the Warblers and Sebastian and the slushie incident that injured Blaine, but that was a child’s temper tantrum compared to right now. And he gets it; Artie’s been in his chair since he was a child. He’s coped and come to terms with what happened to him, and he’s come off better for it. “Artie, I’m sorry,” Kurt says sheepishly, staring down at the dark rug.

“Yeah, you should be,” Artie scoffs. “You need to get over yourself before you get better or it’s not going to happen.”

“What is your problem?” Kurt asks. “I know it can’t be that you’re not getting any because you and Kitty? Yeah, we all see what’s going on.”

“The status of my relationship with my girlfriend is none of your business.” The only person who reacts is Kitty, who glances around nervously at everyone. “It’s fine, sweetie, I don’t think we were ever being careful,” Artie adds to comfort her.

Kurt shakes his head. “You don’t know how terrifying it was waking up and learning what happened to me. Yeah, you were just a kid back then, but I’m training for my future. I have to take the rest of the school year off for recovery because there’s no way I’m going to be able to get on stage and do what I need to in order to get my degree. Working behind the scenes and ruling in your state is perfect for you, but not for me. I need to be on my feet in order to succeed as an actor, and if I don’t have that then I have no idea what’s going to happen.”

Mercedes interrupts them with a clap of her hands. “Okay, I think we’re ready to eat,” she says, and everyone makes their way to the banquet tables that have been set up to accommodate everyone. They always start with expressing their thanks, and it’s no surprise to Kurt that they all wish for him to go first.

“Okay,” he starts. “I’m thankful that my dad is healthy, that he and Carole are able to enjoy the day today with her parents and not spend it alone. I’m thankful that I have the world’s most patient, caring, loving fiance to help me as much as he can.” Blaine squeezes his left hand and smiles at him. “I’m especially thankful for all of you - even you, Kitty. You all have kept me sane through an unbelievable month of getting used to a new norm, however long it may last. And I’m thankful that set of lights did not do its job. If it can’t kill Kurt Hummel, I don’t think anything will.”

The entire group laughs and cheers at his sentence. And for the first time Kurt finally feels like he’s on the road to recovery, little by little.

* * *

Nearly every time December rolls around Kurt falls victim to a pre-winter sinus infection. It’s a particular nuisance he wishes did not exist. Between the nagging pain in his head, overall aches, runny nose, and scratchy throat, it's usually a miracle he can make it through the illness with minimal missed school time.

This year it hits just after his six-week examination with Dr. Woolerey. He wakes up with the tell-tale beginnings of irritation and groans loud enough to wake Blaine. “What’s wrong, honey?” he asks in earnest, turning to wrap himself around Kurt.

“I’m getting sick,” Kurt sighs.

“Already?”

“It’s almost the middle of December. Couldn’t it skip me this year because I’m suffering so much?”

“I’m so sorry. Want me to go to the pharmacy for you, or do you want me to text Rachel to pick up some medicine on her way?”

“Nah, make her do it. I’d rather you give me a bath before you head to school.”

“Of course.” Blaine sits up, stretches, and slides out of bed. “Breakfast before or after?”

“After,” Kurt says. “I feel kind of gross already when it hasn’t even fully kicked in.”

“Of course.” Kurt hates the fact that he can’t enjoy a nice hot shower to partially relieve the building pressure in his head. He’s limited to sponge baths until the first cast comes off, which he’s hoping is only a month away the way his left leg is healing. Blaine doesn’t seem to mind helping with them, a rule Kurt instilled when he put his foot down on Rachel ever seeing any of his more intimate parts.

Things have been hectic around the loft lately. Rachel usually comes over gushing about some little girl that’s inspired by her Fanny Brice, and the crowds at her show are picking up the closer it gets to the holidays. He attempted to go Christmas shopping with Blaine the previous Saturday, but navigating around Fifth Avenue in a wheelchair was hampered by an unexpectedly heavier than predicted snowfall and the bustle of people out searching for gifts with no concern for his safety. After two hours and three stores Kurt called it a day and asked to return to Bushwick, deciding that the internet would be the only appropriate place to purchase that new sweater he’d been hoping to get Carole. And with NYADA’s finals approaching next week Blaine was spending more time on campus rehearsing and studying, leaving Kurt to be watched over in the evenings by Santana, of all people.

Blaine pads through the open curtain with a couple of towels, Kurt’s body wash, and a large bowl full of water. “Ready?” he asks.

Kurt nods, “Sure.” He waits for Blaine to set the items on the dresser before he comes over to help him out of bed. It’s getting easier, especially now that his ribs are fully healed, yet the added weight to his extremities always throws Kurt off the first moment. They work together to rid Kurt of his pajamas and boxers (nothing tighter as it’s difficult not to stretch them out over his casts), then Blaine slowly guides him over near the dresser. Kurt holds on to the edge to steady himself as Blaine sets a towel on the floor. Within moments the warm, damp sponge is running across his back.

Once upon a time, letting Blaine bathe him took on a different kind of intimacy than it does now. Ever since Rachel and Santana moved out they’ve become experts of shower sex. Whether rushing through a morning quickie before they headed to NYADA or stumbling home after a sinful night at a hip gay bar and taking their time worshipping bodies under the streaming water, it’s as much a part of them as much as the ring on Kurt’s hand. Now, however, as Blaine brushes across his soft cock, enveloping it in ocean-scented suds, nothing in him reacts in the way he’s grown accustomed to. He knows the last time the shower sex happened - the night of Blaine’s twenty-first birthday back in September, just before they headed out to dinner with their friends - and he easily recalls the sleepy blowjob he gave the night before the accident. But Kurt feels like he’s no longer able to feel any form of arousal towards Blaine. He’s continuously tired from not being able to do much more than sit in the wheelchair or on the couch, and it just feels awkward to even think of anything remotely appealing.

“You okay in there?” Blaine asks as he rinses out the sponge.

“Fine,” Kurt replies with a nod. “Just thinking about how nice it’s going to be when I can actually shower again instead of this.”

“Mmm, I bet,” Blaine hums. He squeezes the excess water out of the sponge and starts rinsing of Kurt’s body. He changes the subject. “Mom wants to make sure you’re fine with them coming in for Christmas in your condition. She said there’s no hard feelings if you’d rather just have your dad and Carole here.”

“No, your parents should come so they don’t spend the holidays alone. I think it’ll be nice, just the seven of us here, our final holidays before you and I get hitched.”

“Six, actually. I guess Cooper’s been seeing someone for a couple months and he doesn’t want to bring her into the mix when you’re not at your best, so he’s going to meet her family instead.”

Kurt lifts his right arm up as Blaine wipes it down, eager to give it a break from the tight grasp he’s been holding. “That makes sense, too. I hope she’s good for him.”

“It sounds like she is. Her name’s Angie and she works for an advertising agency that covers the new product Coop was signed for. Mom made it seem that she could be the one for him, but I want to hold off judgement until after we meet her.”

“Yeah, you don’t really want another Kelly to happen to-” Kurt breaks into a coughing fit that nearly topples him over. “Ugh, damn it,” he says.

“I’m sorry, love,” Blaine soothes as he brings Kurt back upright. “I can walk down to the store if you don’t want to wait for Rachel.”

“No, don’t do that and risk being late to class.”

“Are you sure? I just want to make sure you have what you need.”

“I’m fine, Blaine.” Kurt places a hand against the crook of Blaine’s elbow. “She shouldn’t be much more than half an hour anyway if you wanted to head out early to get a rehearsal booth.”

Blaine nods. “Of course.” He wipes the last of the soap residue off Kurt’s skin, sets the sponge back in the bowl, and picks up the towel to start drying him off with. “What would you like for breakfast?” he asks as he moves down Kurt’s body.

“Hmmm,” Kurt muses for a second. “Oatmeal? I don’t think that will be too harsh on my throat.”

“Sure thing.” Blaine finishes up and places the towels amongst their laundry that needs done. He grabs a soft black sweater and a pair of flannel pants for Kurt to put on. It’s still a struggle getting the legs up over his casts, but they’ve got everything down pat now. Kurt settles into his wheelchair and rolls out through the curtain, Blaine tailing along to start the water on the stove.

* * *

“I doubt it was as terrible as you said, bro.”

“Sam, I choked. Plain and simple.” Blaine tears a few bits of his panini apart and throws them down on the platter. “Dr. Bellante was legitimately cringing at the notes I hit.”

“But you’re, like, the best singer I know,” Sam says over the receiver.

“That still doesn’t mean I can’t do a horrendous job on a song.”

“What do you think happened? I know you probably had it all down the moment they gave you the sheet music. Was it nerves? Did you have enough to drink beforehand?”

“Or I’ve been so worried about my fiance healing and getting over sinusitis that it’s been affecting my concentration any time I work on something.”

“Oh, yeah, that can do it. Want me to tell Kurt when he wakes up?”

“No, thanks, I’ll wait until I get home.” Blaine glances at the clock hovering above the entryway to the cafeteria. “I might hang around here a bit longer, get my head together and stuff. You don’t mind, do you? I know you said you wanted to take Mercedes out to see The Color Purple tonight.”

“I’ll meet her there, it’s no big deal,” Sam says. “You work on getting your head back on so you can kick ass with the rest of your finals tomorrow, okay?”

Blaine is truly grateful to have his best friend around to vent to. Explaining to Kurt that he failed his Advanced Vocal Technique final will not be a pretty sight, and Sam’s easygoing demeanor is just what he needs to calm down. He’s already contemplating a comforting dinner involving chicken parmesan from the Italian bistro three blocks from their place and a generous slice of black forest cake at Connie’s Sweets. He feels guilty about the amount of takeout they've eaten since Kurt's injury - Blaine isn't as skilled at whipping up dinners as he is at breakfasts - but he knows that sometimes there are valid reasons to resort to an easier method.

"Thanks for talking to me, Sam. I feel a little calmer now," he says, popping a torn corner of focaccia into his mouth.

"No problem. You're my bud, we've gotta be there for each other when things are rough."

"I'll let you go in case Kurt wakes up soon. I should be home by 5, that way you'll have time to head back to the house to change."

"Got it. Have a better afternoon."

Sam hangs up before Blaine can reply. He shuts the screen of his phone off and sets it on the table. The panini, in its current form of destruction, is no longer appetizing to Blaine and he pushes the tray away. It’s going to be a long afternoon trying to cheer himself up.

He stands and picks up his tray and messenger bag, carrying the former to the dishwashing station to drop it off. He wanders through the hallways for a bit before finding a deserted vocal rehearsal room he can sit in. It’s Blaine’s favorite, with a baby grand tucked in the corner to utilize the acoustics of the entire space. Slipping the bag and his cardigan off, he sits at the bench and begins plucking out a few notes - nothing with any form of structure, just letting his feelings flow through his fingertips.

It’s a practice Blaine has become accustomed to since he came to New York. He remembers those first few fights with Kurt when he was afraid of voicing his own concerns about their relationship, about his self-confidence, about life in general. The silence of the moments during and immediately after always drove him insane, and beginning his sophomore year he realized he really is better letting his feelings out through music. The notes begin flying out, morose and somber, until they begin to resemble a tune expressing how defeated he feels after this morning and how he hates to think Kurt will see him as anything less, even though Blaine’s basically pulling double duty taking care of him while finishing out the semester.

A voice in the threshold throws Blaine off just as he’s reaching the climax. “You seem to have a lot on your mind, Mr. Anderson,” Madame Tibideaux says.

Blaine jumps and his hands clatter on a horrifying chord. “I’m sorry,” he replies. “I needed to do something to get my mind off things.”

She strolls in, layers of fabric in her skirt flowing behind, giving the illusion of floating. “Understandable. It’s been a rough few months for you, I gather. How is Mr. Hummel getting along?”

“Alright, I think. He’s recovering from a sinus infection that’s made him even more tired and irritable, but his legs are healing very well. The surgeon believes she can remove one of the casts just after the around the first week of February.” Blaine glosses over the fact that Kurt has been bitchier because of how tense Thanksgiving was and how he’s unable to have the usual Christmas experience that he prefers.

“Wonderful. I hate to see someone of his caliber taken out of his element on stage, and I hope he’ll be fully prepared to return in September.”

Blaine smiles sadly. “We’re just taking it one day at a time right now. He wants to be walking before our wedding, if it’s possible.”

“Of course. And how are the plans for that coming along?”

“Great,” he lies. It’s the first time anyone has addressed him about the ceremony, and the first time Blaine realizes that they haven’t set any plans since the accident. All they have up to now is the date and the venue. Kurt’s hospitalization and recovery have pushed everything else to the side, and they’re now six months out without anything more concrete He supposes Rachel and Sam, being their main attendants, can pitch in with plans as their schedules allow and Kurt can’t get to visit the vendors.

Madame Tibideaux leans against the piano and looks at Blaine. “What about you? I know you must be doing everything to juggle your responsibilities at the moment, correct?”

He shrugs. “It’s not that bad. The break will give me some more time to be with Kurt, of course, but I’ll be ready to do it all over again next semester.”

“Blaine,” she says with concern, “Dr. Bellante came to me after your final this morning and informed me of your grade. Is everything alright for you?”

“Of course it is,” he says all too quickly for her to buy it.

“Scoot over, please.” He moves for her to sit down, and she sets a hand on top of his. “I’ve seen the rest of your final grades up to now, and you’ve slipped in nearly all of them. Professor Pederson noted that your monologues before November were outstanding, and since have merely been acceptable, and your Medieval Stage History final was a low C.”

Blaine runs his free hand across his gelled-down locks as his stomach drops. “I’m sorry, Madame. I promise I’ll do better next semester.”

“I think you’ve forgotten that I’ve been in your shoes before,” Madame Tibideaux says. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Taking care of someone day in, day out, and you still have to live every day as if nothing has changed?”

“I’m handling it fine.”

“I don’t believe you are, or else I wouldn’t have your professors coming to me concerned for your ability to succeed when you get out of here.”

Blaine feels his armor chink the more she speaks. “It’s been hell,” he finally whispers. “Every morning I wake up, I help Kurt out of bed, I bathe him, I help him get dressed, I make him breakfast, and I come here once our friends have arrived to help out. Then when I get home, exhausted already from the commute and the long day here, I then have to get dinner together for Kurt and myself, spend time with him because he’s my fiance and I feel like I’m abandoning him when I’m in class, then it’s time to help him get ready for bed. And only then am I able to study, rehearse, whatever I need to do for the next day. And then there are the days when he has doctor’s appointments in Manhattan, and days when the friends who are busy with their own lives and relationships come over to visit. I can’t remember the last time we went to a show, or when I last spoke to my brother, or even the last time I got more than four hours of sleep because I have to make sure Kurt took his medication when it’s time.”

By the time Blaine finishes he’s in tears, and Madame Tibideaux pulls him to her shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she soothes. “Being a caregiver is more taxing than anyone could express, and being a student on top of that has obviously pushed you to your limits.”

Blaine blinks up at her. “Does it get better? How long were you taking care of your partner before she could do everyday tasks again?”

“It was about eight months. But Leigh having a stroke was a completely different situation that what happened to Kurt. You have him there in all his mental capacity, just not at his physical capacity. Before you know it he’ll be mobile again and able to do those things again.

“I do feel, however,” she continues, “that as the winter term begins you should look into seeing a therapist to help you out.”

“What?” Blaine questions her. “I’m fine, I don’t need one.”

“There are grief and family counselors who specialize in helping with caregivers,” Madame Tibideaux says. “It really helped ease my mind when I was being pulled too thin between here and Leigh, and I’m positive it would be a benefit to you as you deal with this.”

“Yeah, probably.” He has a history with therapists, having been prescribed to see one after the Sadie Hawkins incident and as he withdrew into himself in his beginning weeks at Dalton. Kevin, the psychologist, was someone he was able to confide all his fears about the attacks continuing as he grew older to, and he helped well enough that Blaine could console the same fears of a young show choir spy he barely knew. “Maybe Kurt would do well seeing someone, too, to deal with his feelings about it all.”

“That would be an ideal move as well.” She slings an arm around him in a sort-of hug. “Take it one step at a time. Make sure he gets better, make sure you have time to excel to the degree I know you can next semester, and make sure your relationship thrives throughout this trying time. I expect you to be ready for auditions for the mid-winter show come January.”

“Absolutely, Madame Tibideaux.” Blaine moves to gather his belongings. “You have a happy holidays, ma’am,” he says on his way out.

“The same to you and Mr. Hummel,” she replies, smiling.

“Thank you.” He heads out of the classroom, out of the school, feeling better than he expected even an hour ago..

* * *

Kurt stares out the window at the hustle and bustle on the street. It’s been too long since he’s made it out for anything other than doctor’s appointments. Winter has now settled in over New York, with graying snowbanks left from the last storm littering the sidewalks. Snowflakes have already begun to drift down upon the evening commuters, glowing crystals underneath the amber streetlights.

The chill has extended into the loft thanks to their heat going out two days ago. Kurt shivers and pulls the caftan tighter around his legs. It was one his mother made as she was expecting him, and it’s still one of his most cherished possessions of hers. He thinks back to days when, while snowed in, she would curl up with him under the blanket and watch all his favorite Disney movies and dreaming of the day he would meet his own Prince Charming.

Right on cue the loft door slides open and Blaine steps through, dusting snowflakes off his shoulders and arms. “Hey,” he says as he sets his eyes on Kurt.

“Hey yourself.” Kurt pulls the locks on his wheelchair and maneuvers his way over to where Blaine is hanging his coat up. “Missed you today.”

“I missed you, too.” Blaine unravels the black cashmere scarf from his neck and hangs it around the coat before leaning down and laying a kiss on Kurt’s lips. “I was thinking about that leftover chicken and noodles for dinner? Does that sound alright?”

“Wonderful,” Kurt says. He wheels over to the refrigerator to pull out a plastic container that he hands to Blaine, then the romaine lettuce, tomatoes, and salad dressing. Even if he’s still unable to commit himself to standing long enough to cook, he can at least sit at the table and work on other preparations.

Blaine grabs the serving bowl, tongs, cutting board, and knife for Kurt and sets them in front of him. “Let me know if you need anything else,” he adds as he begins to rummage through the cabinet containing their cookware. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it back before Rachel had to head to the theatre. Of all the semesters to get Cassandra July for my Movement and Rhythm class, huh?”

Kurt chuckles. “It’s no big deal. I’m pretty sure I can understand your frustrations at her teaching methods. Has she chosen a lovely nickname for you yet?”

“Yeah, apparently I’m Jello?”

“Oh, honey,” Kurt sighs, “I hope that isn’t bringing back your weight insecurity, is it? You look perfect, no matter what she says.”

Blaine glances over at him, setting the spoon on the trivet. “No, um, it’s actually due to my hair.”

Kurt busts out laughing. “That’s interesting,” he says through guffaws. “Not something I’ve heard Santana address you as, at least.”

“I’m glad you’re amused, at least. Wanna bet everyone’s going to call me that these last three semesters?”

“Unless you finally decide to go au naturel like I keep suggesting...shit.” The knife falls out of Kurt’s hand, clanging on the floor and dragging his blanket down a little. Blaine rushes over to pick the knife up and sets it on the other end of the table. “Sorry,” Kurt says to him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Blaine replies. “George didn’t stop by to fix the heater today?” he inquires, gesturing to the caftan.

“Of course not,” Kurt sighs. “I can’t wait until we’ve graduated and can afford to move out of this place and into one that has working amenities.”

“Me either, love.”

Blaine pulls the blanket down to fix it and Kurt freezes. Where his casts are supposed to be is nothing but empty space. His legs end in uneven stumps just past his hips. “Where are my legs?” he blurts out in fear. “Blaine, where the hell are they?”

Immediately Blaine reaches in and pulls him into a hug. “Shh, don’t worry, you’re fine,” he whispers into Kurt’s ear, brushing a few kisses along his temple in between.

“No, no, they’re supposed to be here,” Kurt panics. “What happened to them? Where are they?” Blaine only continues to say the same thing, sending Kurt into a fit of hyperventilation. “I need my legs, Blaine, what happened to them?”

“Don’t worry about them, you’re okay, it’s okay.”

“No it isn’t.” He pushes Blaine away and rolls backwards. “It can’t be okay, I’m supposed to have my fucking legs!”

“Kurt, you need to…”

“Shut up and tell. me where they are!”

“Honey, please…”

“Where are they, Blaine?”

“Kurt, baby, wake up.”

Startled, Kurt opens his eyes and looks around. He’s in bed, the only light in their partitioned room coming from the lamp on Blaine’s nightstand. He pulls the comforter and sheet down and sees the white monstrosities that have been a part of him for the last two months, still attached and holding his lower limbs together. With this, he collapses back against the pillows and tries to get his breathing under control.

“You had that nightmare again, didn’t you?” Blaine asks, rolling onto his side and wrapping his arm around Kurt.

Kurt nods. “This time they were hidden by a blanket - Mom’s old blanket - until you came over to fix it.”

“You don’t need to worry, love. I promise you’re not going to lose your legs.” Blaine finds Kurt’s left hand and squeezes it tightly. “Do you want some water?”

“Sure. And maybe a gingersnap?”

“Hey now, I wasn’t allowed to eat them when you took them out of the oven, why do you get to?” Blaine teases.

“Because they’re meant for after dinner tonight. Besides, I’m the broken one, I get to bend my rules a little.”

“Of course you do.” Blaine gives him another squeeze before slipping out of bed.

Kurt takes a few moments to calm his breathing down. This is the fifth time since the accident he’s had a nightmare about what happened. Three of them, including this most recent one, have revolved around his legs being amputated - still a lingering fear no matter how much Dr. Woolerey praises the way his bones are mending. The other two, the ones he has yet to tell Blaine about, go back to the day at NYADA. The moment he stepped center stage the rigs crashed down onto him again, doing even more damage than before. Part of him wonders if he’ll ever be able to do that again; every time Kurt thinks about school and having to make the classes up next fall panic rushes over him. It’s a scary thought not going back, though, as Kurt has always seen his future very concretely, succeeding on the stage with Blaine by his side. Now he’s unsure it can come to fruition in that way.

Blaine returns with a glass of water and a plate topped with three cookies. Kurt smiles as he takes the cup and sips on it. “Thank you. You’re the best, you know?”

“It’s no problem,” Blaine says as he shuffles to his side of the bed.

“No, but really. You’ve gone so far out of your way to take care of me through everything and it means a lot.” He pauses to take a bite of gingersnap, letting the spicy-sweet goodness envelop him. “I’m sure many significant others wouldn’t have done this on top of school, work, whatever.”

“But I’m not them, and you deserve all the help you can get. I’m just glad your stubbornness has subsided in your recovery.”

Kurt chuckles. “I wish I could have done more for you for Christmas.” They decided against presents for each other, with Blaine saying Kurt’s recovery was all the gifts he needed this year. Kurt knows he’ll make up for it next September when Blaine’s birthday rolls around.

“Don’t worry about it,” Blaine says. “Your health is so much more important to me than a couple of bowties.”

“No, you deserve all the bowties now,” Kurt jokes.

Blaine raises and eyebrow. “Oh, do I now?”

“Every one in Manhattan. I’ll clean out the entire stock at Brooks Brothers, even.”

“That better be a promise.”

Blaine leans in and begins lightly kissing along Kurt’s jawline, startling him. “Actually, honey, maybe we should go back to sleep? We have a long day ahead of us with our parents around.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Kurt doesn’t fail to notice the disappointment in Blaine’s eyes, masked by a neutral expression. “Merry Christmas, love.”

“Merry Christmas,” he replies. He takes another drink of his water and finishes off the cookie before settling against the pillows again. Blaine flicks the lamp off and cuddles close, drifting off shortly before Kurt closes his eyes.

* * *

“Kurt, dear, were you wanting to keep the potatoes warm while everything else finishes cooking?” Blaine’s mother, Marisol, asks.

“We can reheat them once everything else is finished.” He wheels across the loft to the kitchen area where she finished mashing the potatoes for dinner. “I wish I had realized the ham would take that long to defrost or I would have set it out yesterday.”

“It’s alright, sweetie,” she smiles. “You’re doing much better at this than I did at the first Christmas Tim and I hosted.

“Better than a frozen main dish and not being able to do ninety percent of the prep work?”

“I…” Marisol glances across to room to where her son and husband are engrossed in a football game with Burt. “Blaine doesn’t know any of this,” she whispers, “but I had been pregnant once well before we had him.”

“Really?” Kurt asks. He knows Cooper was adopted after they tried unsuccessfully for several years to conceive, and that Blaine was their surprise miracle when Marisol was 37.

She nods. “I was about nine weeks along at the time, complete with horrible morning sickness that caused me to take the entire final week of school off. And we’d only been married a little over a year at that point, but we wanted it to be meaningful. His parents and brothers were coming over, then we would call my mother back home to let everyone know the news that night. Just as everyone sat down to eat and I was about to take my seat, I got sick again and vomited all over the turkey and dressing."

"Oh, no!" Kurt gasps. "Then what happened?"

"It was chaos. Belinda - you've heard the stories about how prim and proper she was." Kurt nods at the mention of Blaine's late paternal grandmother. "She shrieked and said there was no way she would eat any of the remaining food since it was cooked by someone 'so violently ill that they risked every guest's health.' All Tim could say was 'good thing she's only sick from carrying your grandchild and you don't have to worry about catching it.'" Marisol smiles sadly. "That set her off, saying we were too young to become parents and that she would not expect to be called Grandma and babysit every day."

"Wow." Kurt had the privilege of meeting Belinda when Blaine graduated from McKinley, a few months before she passed away, and it had not gone to his liking. "How did she react when you, uh, lost it?"

"We found out at the twelve week appointment that there was no heartbeat," Marisol says. She sets the rolling pin she'd been using down and ignores her pie crust. "When we called her from the hospital she acted as if she had something more important to attend to after we told her, and she never visited once while I was there, nor the week after when I could barely get out of bed."

"I'm sorry, Marisol. You didn't deserve any of that."

She nods. "I vowed from that moment that when my children get married I would never be like her and criticize every moment of their spouse's life. And Kurt, believe me when I say I wish I could have come out to visit when you were in the hospital, but the school would have frowned upon me taking that long away from my students."

"I understand," he says, reaching up for her hands. "Thank you, though, because Blaine has been nothing short of amazing while I've been stuck in all this plaster."

"If he hadn't been I'd come after him anyway," she jokes.

The loft door slides open and Carole walks in with a few bottles of wine. Kurt looks at them in longing, wishing he hadn't needed that extra pain pill this morning after his and Blaine's late night talk. "These are from Rachel," she says as she sets them on the counter.

"I'll text her my thanks later. How was lunch?"

"It was lovely." She slips out of her jacket, setting it on one of the dinette chairs. "I miss her so much sometimes, but I'm so glad she's succeeding out here. She deserves to be a star so much. What all is left to be done?"

"Unfortunately a lot, it's going to be a late dinner. The ham was still rock solid this morning."

"So let Marisol and me take over the duties while you relax. I know you're probably tired right now from all this work."

"Actually I'm fine," Kurt says, but Carole takes hold of the wheelchair handles and maneuvers him away.

"Don't worry about it, dear, we have it all under control."

He feels extremely put off. After the mess that was Thanksgiving he'd hoped having a hand in the dinner this evening would make him feel human again. Dejected, he wheels to the bedroom and closes the curtain behind him. It isn't long before he hears it open again. "You alright?" Blaine asks.

"I'm not an invalid," he cries. “I’m not, yet they’re treating me like I am.”

"I know you aren't, honey." Blaine leans down to hug Kurt. "I know that, and they know that. But I think Mom and Carole are trying to make sure you don't overexert yourself today."

"Why would I even do that?"

"Because you haven't done all that much these last two months and then you intended to throw yourself completely into this dinner as if your legs weren't broken."

He knows Blaine has a point. He probably would end up too exhausted to eat with everyone. But it stings that Marisol and Carole shooed him away without explaining. Kurt nods briefly against Blaine's cardigan and sighs. "I am tired. Tired of dealing with all this."

"I know you are, love," Blaine consoles, "but it's not going to be much longer. Dr. Woolerey said she's hoping to remove the first cast next month, right? And the other one by early March? That's barely two and a half months from now and you'll be back on your feet."

“It feels like forever away.”

“Hey, look at me.” Kurt stares up into Blaine’s honey-green eyes. “Remember what we discussed last week? About maybe seeing someone to cope with your emotions about the accident? I really think you should look into those doctors over the next couple days, before you start therapy and everything.”

“I don’t need a shrink,” he declares again. Blaine brought it up last week after a talk with Madame Tibideaux and has been pushing for Kurt to make an appointment for himself as well. It feels hopeless and will only remind him that he’s scared of what can happen, of the possibility of not walking in the wedding and potentially never stepping on stage again.

“Just one appointment? Please?” Blaine pleads with a pout. “I promise I won’t ask you again, but I’m pretty sure this is something that would help in your recovery.

“I…sometimes you scare me, Kurt,” he continues. “When I come home after a long day of classes I have this fear that you may have become so fed up with Rachel taking care of you that you’ll have done something to her. Or, even worse, you’ll end up taking your frustrations out on me because I get to do it. I get to walk around NYADA all day and discover what it takes to be an actor while you’re stuck here, unable to leave our home without assistance, having all these nightmares that you’ll end up losing your legs, and growing more frustrated because all you want to do is return to how things were before the accident.

“Kurt, you are more important to me than anything in this world and the only thing I want right now? Is for you to remember how incredible of a person you are. Having a number of broken bones does not make you any less, and I’m going to marry you, in June, whether you walk down the aisle or whether your father has to push you down it. You’re amazing, you just need to remember that.”

It all hits Kurt at once. He’s had an inkling he’s been a little hard on Blaine and their friends since the accident, oftentimes demanding Rachel or Sam to head out and pick up a magazine for him or a non-grocery brand coffee. He’s irritable more and more lately, snapping at Blaine while he’s running through vocal exercises or when he accidentally burns their salmon dinner. The only thing Kurt has been focused on has been healing his legs, but his mind has taken as much of a blow as they have.

“Okay,” he whispers.

Blaine grins, tears welling up in his eyes. “Okay?”

“I’ll call someone on Monday. It couldn’t hurt, could it?”

“Of course not.” Blaine leans down to hug Kurt. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too,” Kurt replies. “Even if I don’t say it because I’m being too much of a bitch, I still love you.”

“I know.”

Kurt hears the curtain slide open. “Is it safe in here?” his dad’s voice asks.

“Of course it is, Burt,” Blaine chuckles.

“Good. Your dad decided to get a card game going while the ham’s still cooking. Something about human cards?”

“You mean Cards Against Humanity, Dad?”

“Yeah, that. Guess the gals are up for it, they already opened one of those wine bottles.”

Kurt glances up at Blaine, who has the same horrified look on his face. “We’ll be out in a second.” Once Burt steps away and back to the couch where Carole, Tim, and Marisol are seated he sighs. “This may end up a Christmas to remember.”

“Or try to forget.” Blaine takes hold of the wheelchair handles and pushes him out of their bedroom. “Why didn’t we hide that box before today?”

* * *

The waiting room of Dr. Anthony Stephens’ practice is warm, caring, and everything Kurt would want had he been anywhere but here. It’s been nine days since he made the call, twelve since the mess that Christmas was, and he’s done nothing but waffle back and forth on whether he should truly come to his appointment. He doesn’t want to be prescribed any more pills than what he’s already on (though Kitty, fresh out of a Psych 101 class, explained he’s seeing a psychiatrist, not a psychologist who would be the only one able to request medication in treatment).

“Do you have those forms done?” Sam asks. “I’ll take them up for you.”

“Sure,” Kurt nods. He’s grateful for Sam - had it not been a Wednesday he’d be here with Rachel, or Blaine if he’d been able to get out of the first week of classes, and he’d probably have to deliver the forms and insurance card to the receptionist himself. They’ve never been close, but he is Blaine’s best friend and he did a world of good keeping him from going off the deep end while they were broken up. He’s probably one of the most caring friends Kurt can remember ever having.

Two seats away Mercedes grins at him. “You staring at my boy’s behind?”

“Really? It’s been five years since my ill-advised crush on him.” Kurt chuckles and shakes his head. “You can have that, I’ll keep mine, thank you.”

“Yeah, except half the time those two are more over each other than us.”

“So true,” he sighs.

“What’s so true?” Sam interrupts. He takes the seat in between them and pecks Mercedes on the cheek, sliding his arm around her shoulders.

“How I have the most amazing boyfriend and Kurt agrees,” she says.

“I beg to differ,” Kurt counters.

“Well, I’ll be!” Sam fans himself, acting like a southern belle blushing at her suitor’s compliments. “Mr. Hummel, I never thought you’d feel that way about me!”

He looks over to the door, where a teenage boy exits Dr. Stephens’ office and walks over to where his parents are seated, immediately bawling as he reaches them and collapsing into his mother’s arms. Anxiety begins to trickle through his veins. “This is the right thing to do, right?”

“Of course it is,” Sam says. “Therapy helped my mom out greatly when she was depressed.”

“Wait, your mom saw a therapist?”

He nods. “Yeah, after she had Stacey she was really sad and moody a lot, and Dad and I had to step in to take care of the babies and her until she realized how bad she was feeling. They said it was something called post-mortem depression?”

“Post-partum,” Mercedes corrects him.

“Yeah, that. Having my sister threw her brain off, but now she’s so much better.”

“That’s good,” Kurt says. He stays silent for a few seconds. “Blaine gave me a bit of a rundown of what will happen in there. Did you know he went to therapy after he got beat up at his first high school?”

Sam nods. “Yeah, he told me all about it. You know the story about him almost going back to Dalton, right? After I convinced him not to I spent the night at his house and we basically opened up about everything in our lives. I tried to get him to see someone again since he was still down, but he refused. Said there was no need to go back there.”

Kurt reaches down and picks up Sam’s free hand. “Thank you for at least attempting that. You’re really good for him. Mercedes, too,” he nods towards her. “You’ve got two of the most important people in my life wrapped around you and it really means a lot to me that you’ve done so much to take care of them.”

“Anytime,” Sam smiles.

The door opens again and a tall black man - taller than Finn ever was, but Kurt could be miscalculating from not being able to stand - pops out of the office. “Kurt Hummel?” he asks.

“Yeah, that’s me.” He unlocks his chair and wheels towards Dr. Stephens.

“Excellent, come on in.” Dr. Stephens holds the door open for Kurt and closes it behind him once he’s inside. “I guess I don’t have to ask you to take a seat on the couch,” he says awkwardly, unsure if Kurt will appreciate the joke.

He smiles at Dr. Stephens, feeling a little less nervous. “You’re fine, one of these is getting cut off in a few weeks.”

“Good, good. Come over this way.” He strolls across to a fabulous leather armchair similar to the one Tim Anderson uses in his study. He picks up a notebook and pen off his coffee table. “We’ll go ahead and get started, Kurt. Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?”

“Okay,” he nods. “I’m twenty-two, originally from a small town in Ohio, and I moved out here after high school to pursue my lifelong dream of being on Broadway.”

“Good choice. My wife, Tania, used to be a chorus player in a number of shows until she had our oldest daughter. So do you attend Tisch?”

“No, NYADA, though they didn’t accept me my first semester; I ended up getting in the following December.”

“So you’ve got the talent to be up on that stage,” Dr. Stephens says. “And your love life?”

Kurt grins harder and flashes his ring. “I’m getting married in five months - my high school sweetheart.”

“Congratulations. Now, on to why you came to see me…I’m assuming it has a little to do with why you’re in the wheelchair?”

“Yeah, it does. Right before Halloween, I was on one of NYADA’s stages for a tech workshop where we dealt with the lighting and sound for a show. One of the lighting rigs came loose and crashed down, and I couldn’t get out of the way.”

Dr. Stephens nods and continues writing. “That must have been horrifying.”

“It was, yeah,” Kurt confirms. “Waking up in the hospital with no memory of what happened, just a bunch of broken bones in my legs and a few cracked ribs. Obviously, when you’re an actor, you value your entire body to help you tell your story, so it’s been quite a struggle for me.”

“In what ways?”

“Well, being in the wheelchair has been a burden. I have a longtime friend out here who was paralyzed as a child, and he and I got into an argument about my feelings about it around Thanksgiving.”

“And what were those feelings, Kurt?” Dr. Stephens asks.

“I was aggravated. I couldn’t take care of myself anymore and Blaine - he’s my fiance - along with my friends had to do it all for me. For years I was always the one taking care of people. My mom died when I was eight, then my stepbrother died the year after we graduated high school. My best friend was my roommate at the time, and the two of them were always on and off again, but she took it so hard.

“Anyway,” he digresses, “going from a standard day in, day out routine to having Blaine help me get ready for the day so I don’t fall over on my casts was embarrassing. I sometimes took it out on him, sometimes on Rachel since she stayed with me while Blaine was at school, and it hurt, more than just physically. But recently I’ve started having these dreams where something worse happens, like my legs are completely gone.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Dr. Stephens says. He uncrosses and recrosses his legs. “How often do you have them?”

“Four times since the beginning of December.”

“Uh-huh. Do you think this could be a fear of yours, being in the chair permanently?”

Kurt nods. “It is, a little. My surgeon said the day I woke up that it could take a year for me to fully be able to walk again. I definitely want to be before June, when our wedding is, although Blaine keeps saying he doesn’t want me to push too hard for it.” He chuckles. “I’ve always been a little stubborn in that aspect.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with a little stubbornness,” Dr. Stephens says. “It took two months for my wife to agree to go on a date with me.”

“Yep, that’s how I am.”

Dr. Stephens smiles. “Is there anything else you wish to add?”

Kurt hesitates. “I…yeah, there is another dream.”

“Okay.”

“I keep dreaming of the day it happened, of stepping center stage preparing for a huge number, but the lights come down on me again. It’s insane, but some part of me feels like I can never do that again, that being up there performing will give me flashbacks and I’ll have to run off. And it sucks, because this has been my dream since the day my mom took me to see a community theater production of _The Sound of Music_. If I can’t perform, what will I be able to do, you know?

“And at the same time, I sort of resent both Blaine and Rachel. He’s a junior at NYADA, he’s done so well with his mentors and performances, yet he’s going to graduate even if I can’t and go on auditions. Rachel and I moved here together, yet she made it first. She’s Fanny Brice in _Funny Girl_ , although she’s probably leaving when her contract expires this summer for a new role. She’s already living our dream while I’m stuck in this monster. And I don’t know if I can ever get over that.”

By the time Kurt finishes speaking, Dr. Stephens has set his notepad down. “Okay,” he replies with a nod. “You really let it all out today, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, feeling a tear trickle down his cheek. “I’ve just been holding it in so long.”

“That’s alright.” He slips his bifocals off. “Listen, what I’m seeing in you is a bit of depression, anxiety, and post-traumatic stress. I’m not quite ready to diagnose you as of yet, but I will want you to come back so we can get a little deeper inside to see who you really are and, should you not want to continue on with acting, what your next moves are. You’re very strong-willed, Kurt, and I can see this injury has had a tremendous impact on you.”

“Thank you,” Kurt nods. “I haven’t told anyone about the stage fright yet.”

“You don’t have to until you’re ready. You’re still in the healing process, which seems like it’s taken a toll on you. Focus on you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Great,” Dr. Stephens says. “Now, let’s discuss some happier things. Tell me a little about your fiance.”

Kurt laughs through his tears. “We might have to extend my session…”

* * *

Blaine unfolds the napkin the moment he sits down and sets it in his lap. “I still don’t understand why you two insist on paying for my lunch when you’re the ones who are owed so much from helping us out every day.”

“Because you still need all the love you can get from us,” Rachel says. “I never get to see you other than the few minutes when you’re leaving for school or coming home before I have to rush to the theater. I miss my Tony, you know.”

“Yeah, and I miss my Nightbird,” Sam chimes in.

Blaine snorts. “Sam, do me a favor and never say that again.” He understands them; this semester has been killing him already, he has auditions for the student-written play coming up, and taking care of Kurt all while maintaining his grades has left him no time to spend with friends. Even Skyping with Tina has fallen by the wayside, and he can’t even recall the last time he spoke to her.

“So is Kurt glad to have the loft to himself?” Sam asks after the server pops by to get their drink orders.

“Oh, yeah,” Blaine replies. “First time in almost four months without supervision? He practically pushed me out the door.”

“I can see that,” Rachel says. “He’s gotten so much better on the crutches, too.”

“Mmhmm. The highlight that first week after Dr. Woolerey removed the cast was not needing me to help him stand up and brush his teeth.”

“How long do you think it’ll be for the other one?” Sam asks.

Blaine shrugs. “Tomorrow marks sixteen weeks since the accident. Probably another two? We’ll see after his appointment Thursday.”

“And then what happens?”

“Then it’s lots and lots of therapy to get to walking again. He’s still pushing for the wedding, but I just want him to stay healthy and not push too hard in case something happens.”

Even despite the freedom and mobility of his crutches, Blaine still insists Kurt use the wheelchair when they go out, which is happening more frequently. Not being on his feet for so long means Kurt tires of it easily, and Blaine doesn’t want him passing out when they’re with a wedding vendor or sales associate. June is still a ways off, and anything can sidetrack Kurt's recovery between now and then. Besides, there have become more…pressing issues Blaine wants to tackle before walking.

When the server returns with their drinks - tea for Rachel, water for Sam, and soda for Blaine - and takes down their food orders, Blaine lets out a sigh. “Do you two mind if I vent about something that’s…sort of personal?” he asks in a hushed voice.

Rachel’s face falls and she immediately reaches across the table for his hand. “Are you okay, dear? You’re not making yourself sick from all your obligations to Kurt and NYADA, are you?”

“No, no,” he chuckles, “it’s nothing bad. I’m just a little…frustrated, I guess.”

“Oh. Well, it’s still understandable in your position. I know if…” she trails off. Blaine knows she wants to talk about Finn.

Sam steps in to speak “I think what she’s saying is that’s what love will do. You’ll take care of that person if something bad happens, no questions asked.” Rachel nods, eyes glassy with tears. “But it can get to be too much after a while, and you have to wonder if you’ll ever get a break to just be yourself,” he finishes.

“Yeah, that’s all true,” Blaine says, “but I’m talking about _sexual_ frustration.”

“Blaine!” Rachel gasps, flicking her eyes around the bistro. “We’re in public, come on!”

“I don’t think the elderly ladies three tables over can hear what I’m saying, Rach.”

“Fine then, go on.”

“Thank you,” he smiles. “As I was saying, it’s been quite a while since Kurt and I have, well, taken pleasure in certain acts.”

“How long?” Sam asks.

Blaine takes a moment to think back. “Two days before the accident.”

“Oh, wow. So what, are you just wanting tips on how to ‘entertain’ yourself? I’d think as a gay man you’d be a bit of an expert on that.”

“No, I’m not,” Blaine says, rolling his eyes. “Where did you even come up with that?”

“Oh, well one of my friends at the agency, Kenneth, he’s told me that he…”

He cuts Sam off. “I don’t even want to know.”

“Is it more you want us to help you seduce Kurt?” Rachel asks. “Are you even sure his…drive, I guess, has returned to where it was before he was injured?”

“I’m not sure,” Blaine shrugs. He’s uncomfortable discussing this - sex in general is a topic he prefers only talking about with Kurt - and doing it with their two best friends, one who is celibate to honor his girlfriend’s choice and one who refuses to date again out of honor to her heart, seems moot. “We really haven’t done much other than some making out, and that honestly feels so juvenile now. I mean, our five year anniversary is next month….”

“Dude, you were broken up for half a year during that,” Sam reminds Blaine.

“Doesn’t count anymore. But yeah, I’m a little worked up now and I need to find a way to see if he’s ready to take it back up to that level.”

“Well, you’re both romantics at heart,” Rachel says. “Maybe a nice evening will accommodate him _and_ you? Homemade dinner, a sweet movie, and then some quality time getting to know each other again.”

“Yeah,” Sam pipes in, “and maybe some flowers? I can give you those candles you left for me and Mercedes when you moved out.”

Blaine chuckles, grateful his best friends aren’t judging him much. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass on those. Since I’ll be getting this ready while Kurt’s around it’d be a bit challenging setting something like that up without his knowledge.”

Rachel sips her tea and sets the cup back on the saucer, quickly dabbing the lipstick imprint off the porcelain. “Very true. I’m sure he can’t wait for the day he’s cleared to leave the loft on his own.”

“Of course. Soon, just not too soon.”

* * *

It doesn’t happen until Friday evening. The shortened school week due to President’s Day means Blaine has to reschedule his weekly vocal lesson for the semester from Monday morning to a Wednesday evening slot, and the first round of auditions for the play run long enough that he doesn’t get his chance until after 9 on Thursday. By the time he trudges home from the subway those evenings Kurt is already sound asleep. Blaine kisses his cheek, pulls the blankets up a bit further, and retreats back to the main area to grab a bite to eat.

The good thing about Fridays, at least until rehearsals for the play start up, is that Blaine’s done and off campus by 10:45. He gets off the train two stops early to stop at Whole Foods and pick up the ingredients he needs, and by the time he makes it home Kurt’s finishing preparations on chicken and Fuji apple salad for lunch. “I hope the chef plans on taking the afternoon off,” he says as he sets the bags onto the table and begins sorting through the purchased goods.

“Why? Is Anthony Bourdain taking over?” Kurt jokes.

Blaine grins and kisses his fiance. “He might not be quite as skilled, but I can guarantee you will savor everything this up-and-comer makes.”

Kurt gives him a side-eye glance as Blaine puts the scallops and greens in the refrigerator. “Honey, you know I love you, but I’m not entirely certain your culinary knowledge is up to par for - oh, you stopped at Connie’s, didn’t you?”

“See, I don’t think I’m quite ready to take on dessert yet.” Blaine takes the cake and sets it on the counter. “She can handle those fine details while I master all the cookie recipes in the world.”

“Oh, all of them?” Kurt smirks. “Is this your way of saying I’ll need to hit the gym again as soon as I can walk?”

“Not at all,” he replies. He carefully lifts Kurt’s right leg out of the chair it’s resting on and sits down, setting the heavy cast in his lap. He begins rubbing a hand across Kurt’s upper thigh where the cast ends. “How are you feeling today?”

Kurt smiles, much more bright and normal than Blaine’s seen the past four months. “Good. The pain hasn’t bothered me at all..”

“That’s great!” Blaine knows how tired Kurt is of reaching for the painkillers every four hours - Dr. Woolerey has already weaned him off the stronger prescriptions he first came home with, so now there’s a giant bottle of extra-strength Tylenol sitting in the bathroom. “I’ve missed you this week,” he says.

“Mm, I’ve missed you, too.” Kurt moans as Blaine increases the pressure of his massage through the soft jersey knit pants. “God that feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. S’been too long.”

Blaine tenses up. He wasn’t intending on getting to the sex before 1 PM. “Kurt, honey, don’t you want to eat the lunch you made?”

Kurt shakes his head swiftly. “Don’t care. Bedroom. Now.”

“Well, if you insist.” He scrambles out of the seat, careful not to bang Kurt’s cast on anything, and scoops his arms around Kurt to lift him out of his chair. “I promise I won’t bump your leg into anything,” he says.

“Yeah, all I need is some searing pain to kill the mood.”

Blaine works his way through the loft to their bedroom, not even bothering to pull the curtain shut behind him because nobody should be coming over. He sets Kurt down on the bed and straddles across his midsection, locking lips and rucking Kurt’s gray t-shirt up to his chest. Kurt has become incredibly self-conscious since the accident, so the only time Blaine is able to get a glimpse of the tight, toned body he worships has been when he’s assisting Kurt showering. His hands lock onto Kurt’s sides, with one sliding up and down his torso as the kissing intensifies.

Kurt breaks away, breathing heavily. "Why haven't you undressed me yet?"

"I figured you wanted a bit of time?" Blaine asks. "It has been a while."

"Yeah, and I want you now, so get rid of all this clothing."

Blaine obliges and slips Kurt's tee, pants, and boxers off quickly. Once done, he begins unbuttoning his cardigan while Kurt attacks the buckle of his belt. He feels free as Kurt slides his own jeans and underwear down and his cock bounces out - it really has been too long since they've done this. "Better?" he asks.

"Much." Kurt leans up and kisses Blaine again.

They rut together for a few minutes as Blaine tries to be gentle. Kurt's not fragile, not in the least, but his legs are still healing and he doesn't want the moment to end in agony. He rolls away to reach into his nightstand and retrieve the lube, inciting a whine from Kurt at the loss of contact. He pours a bit onto his fingers, warming it up a little before bringing his hand around to tease at Kurt's hole.

"Blaine, fuck, just get on with it already," Kurt moans.

"Okay, okay." He finally prods a finger inside, sliding in and out to make sure Kurt isn't hurting from the length of time it's been. He adds a second finger. "God, so tight," he whispers.

Kurt bucks his hips up at the added pressure inside. "More, need more."

"You're getting more, trust me." Once he's satisfied, Blaine adds a third finger in and moves them around. When he pulls them out to lube up his cock is only when he realizes things are going to be tricky.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Kurt asks.

"Um," Blaine hesitates, "is this going to work? Your legs up on my shoulders? I don't want you to be uncomfortable during this."

"I'll be fine," he nods. "Trust me, if anything starts to hurt I'll let you know."

"Alright." Blaine guides Kurt's left leg up onto his right shoulder, then starts to lift up his right leg. It's a struggle to get it up onto him with the cast, and it takes Blaine a few tries to get it to sit. He takes the lube and hastily lathers some over his cock, positioning himself at Kurt's entrance and working himself in.

"Shit!" Blaine exclaims as he pushes in and Kurt's leg falls off. Kurt begins writhing in pain. "Are you okay?" he asks. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're fine," Kurt says as he starts crying. "You're fine and I'm a fucking disaster."

"What?" Blaine pulls out as he feels himself going soft. "No, you aren't, you're perfect."

"Yeah? How perfect can I be if I can't even have sex with you? This entire thing has ruined my life."

"Honey, don't say that. Your life isn't ruined just because it's uncomfortable for this. We'll just wait until this cast is off and try again."

"It's not just that! I can't walk, I can't have sex, and my entire career is ruined now!"

Blaine stares at him in disbelief. "What are you even talking about? You're just going to graduate a year behind schedule with me. That's not ruining anything."

Kurt flinches away as Blaine tries to pull him closer. "I've been having nightmares," he says softly. "I've only told Dr. Stephens about them until now, but I do. About walking on stage again and the lights falling on me. They terrify me, Blaine. Every time they happen I feel a little less safe going back to NYADA."

"Kurt, it was a freak accident."

"I know that, but what if it happens again? Or to you, or to Rachel?"

"It won't," Blaine says. "You have to believe me when I say it won't."

Kurt stays silent for a moment, then turns towards Blaine, taking his hands. "If I...if I drop out, will you love me less?" he asks, his voice small.

The words slam into Blaine as he realizes how serious Kurt is. He thought all along he'd had a grasp on how much the accident has taken a toll on him. The fear is evident the more Kurt says, and it deflates his heart to see this struggle now coming to life. "Of course not," he whispers. "I love you, and it doesn't matter if you're up on stage or working at your dad's shop. You're always, _always_ going to be my star."

Kurt grabs Blaine and pulls him towards him, sobbing into his shoulder. "What did I ever do to deserve someone as understanding as you?"

"Spied on a private school's show choir?" Blaine jokes, finally getting a small smile out of Kurt. "I'm serious. What you do in your life doesn't change how much I love you."

"I love you, too," Kurt says. "What am I going to do? I can't just change my life at 22 like that, can I?"

"Don't worry about that right now, honey. Just focus on getting better and strengthening your legs. We have so much going on between now and June, and it could take time before you settle on something you do feel comfortable doing with your life. But I'll be right here next to you, supporting whatever career decision you make. Now come on, that chicken salad shouldn't be going bad as long as it's been out. Let's go have lunch."

"Okay," Kurt says, smiling through his tears. "There's just one problem."

"What's that?" Blaine asks.

"We left my crutches out there, so you'll have to carry me again."

* * *

Kurt hates his physical therapist, Joey.

Don't get him wrong; Joey is actually a very cool guy. He's in his first year as a therapist and from Michigan, so he and Blaine have already been in a few football-related tiffs. He's also extremely tall and blond, and Kurt's half-tempted to set him up with Elliott once he's done visiting. The problem isn't with Joey's persona and rather with how much Joey makes him work.

In the five weeks since his second cast has come off and he's begun strengthening his legs, Kurt is barely able to hobble out of the hospital. Blaine hasn't been able to make it to as many sessions as he'd like thanks to the dress rehearsal schedule for his play, so Rachel, Santana, and Sam have stepped in and assisted him between home and therapy. Today is Santana's turn, with Dr. Woolerey monitoring progress for a follow-up appointment he'll have immediately after.

"Okay, Kurt, just make it across the ramp one more time," Joey says, clapping from the other end of where Kurt is standing. "Come to me."

"Wanky," Santana mutters from a chair by the wall. She's focused more on her text conversation with Brittany than watching the developments unfolding.

"Glad to see you still haven't outgrown high school, Santana," Kurt shoots out before turning towards Joey. "I don't know if I can."

"Of course you can. Just pretend this is the wedding venue and I'm Blaine."

Santana finally sets her phone down. "Oh, honey, you need to buy stock in every brand of hair gel if you want to be Blaine Warbler."

Kurt sighs. "Just ignore her. Attention only feeds her ego."

"Hey, she's a lot like my cousin Amber, just way more gay," Joey chuckles. "Imagine growing up with a Detroit version of her."

"Nah, I'd rather not."

"Alright, back to the business at hand. I know you can do this, Kurt. You know you can do this. One more time and we'll be done for the week."

"I don't know," he sighs, shuffling his left, sturdier foot forward.

Joey makes a motion with his hands. "Nothing's going to stop you, Kurt, not even your pain. I guarantee you will make this happen."

He takes a deep breath and slowly moves his right foot. Getting across the platform is terrible - his still-weakened muscles cause him to stumble three times. If it weren’t for the parallel bars he’d be sprawled out on the floor waiting for someone to pick him up. He finally reaches Joey and collapses into his arms.

“It’s okay, you did it,” he reassures Kurt. “You did great today, Kurt, so great. Blaine will be so proud of you.”

Kurt huffs out a few breaths, trying to regain his balance as Santana brings his crutches to him. “Thanks for putting me through hell today.”

“Anytime,” Joey smiles. “I’ll see you Tuesday, alright?”

He nods. “Yeah. Have a good time with your mom in town.”

Dr. Woolerey is still sitting against the wall with her folder open. “You ready to head upstairs?” she asks him as she closes it up and places her pen in her lab coat.

“Of course.” He follows her out as Santana grabs her belongings and catches up on his right side in case his leg tires, as it generally does after therapy. He’s been coming back to NYU often enough that the map is ingrained into the back of his eyelids. This time they’re heading two floors up to her office, rather than the orthopedic exam rooms. They reach the elevator and she lets them on before punching the button to her floor. “As glad as I am to be getting better, I think I’m going to miss this place a little,” he jokes.

“That’s what many of my patients say,” Dr. Woolerey replies, smiling. “I was definitely impressed with your work today. You’ve come much farther than I expected when you first mentioned walking by your wedding day.”

“Yeah, well I’m nothing if not determined to get what I want.”

“He’s right,” Santana says. “You should have seen him back in high school fighting for the solos in our show choir. He probably would have killed someone for one, and that someone probably would have been Rachel Berry.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like you never tried the same thing.”

“I’m just saying. And then there was the time he dated my girlfriend for a week to gain his dad’s attention back…”

“Okay, we’re stopping the reminiscing here,” Kurt says bluntly as the elevator dings open. He hobbles his way out and follows Dr. Woolerey to her office.

Dr. Woolerey turns around as she opens the door. “Santana, do you mind having a seat in the waiting area? I probably won’t be more than ten minutes with him.”

“Sure,” she shrugs, heading down to an alcove in the corner of the hallway.

Kurt makes his way into the office - small and bland, he thinks, and little for decorations other than a picture of her husband and sons. “Have a seat, Kurt,” Dr. Woolerey says as she settles in behind her desk He lowers himself into the chair across from her, leaning the crutches against the desk. “You really have come a long way, Kurt. It’s impressive to see how much you’re working with Joey even in spite of the pain and weakness you’re still dealing with.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” he grins.

“And I know just how important it is for you to be at a hundred percent by June 1oth. You and Blaine have been anticipating this day, and I can tell you it truly is the finest moment you will ever experience.

“With that, however, I do have a few suggestions,” she adds. “Because you’re still struggling with getting your calves working properly again, I’m going to advise you not to leave your home for more than two hours at a time, other than your visits here. The longer you spend upright, especially when you aren’t used to it anymore, the more prone you are to having your legs give out or spasm on you, and I’d rather it not happen when you’re in Midtown and need to find transportation back.”

Kurt bites his lip in frustration. He’s finally getting used to the freedom of seeing places outside of Bushwick on a regular basis. “Can there be exceptions? Blaine’s play opens tomorrow and I need to be there for him.”

“Of course,” she nods. “I definitely wouldn’t expect you to miss out on that. Just be mindful of your standing ovation for him, okay?”

“Okay.”

“My other advice is a little harder to give, as I’m assuming you have every last detail of the wedding and after planned out?” Kurt says yes. “Kurt, I don’t want you taking any extended trips outside of the boroughs until I have officially cleared you off my watch.”

“Excuse me?” he asks. “No leaving New York at all?”

“I’m sorry, Kurt, I know you two are probably looking forward to your honeymoon…”

“Damn right we are!” He’s livid. They’ve had their trip to Cancun scheduled since August, one of the few wedding details they’d agreed on even back when they were teenagers with big dreams and bigger hearts. Everything has been booked and paid for - flights to and from, passports, reservations at an LGBT-friendly resort - and it’s all nonrefundable. Kurt berates himself for not listening when Blaine suggested adding travel insurance into the package. “You’re telling me less than two months before I get married that I’ve basically lost out on my honeymoon? Are you insane?”

“Kurt,” Dr. Woolerey sighs, slipping her glasses off, “I’m looking out for your health and safety here. It’s too risky to allow you to spend that much time walking around so soon.”

“But I thought that was the point of my rehab? I’m supposed to be walking around!”

“It’s still going to be a long road until you can feel comfortable standing and walking for hours at a time. I know you’ve had some doubts about your future after this, and I don’t want to discourage you from anything you set your mind to. However, it’s in my best interest to make sure you take everything easy until I believe you are no longer in need of my care.”

Kurt is no longer paying attention to what she’s saying. “So in other words, you’re ruining what is supposed to be the biggest day of my life?” he asks through clenched teeth.

“Of course not,” Dr. Woolerey replies. “You can push the trip back to next summer, or if things go well for your spring break. You don’t have to give it up at all.”

“I’m giving up my dream career because of this, and now I have to give up my dream honeymoon? Should I even ask what’s next?”

“That’s all I have, Kurt.”

“Good.” He stands up and takes his crutches. “I’ll see you next month, Doctor.”

Kurt is out of Dr. Woolerey’s office before she can reply. He hobbles his way down to the elevator banks as he hears a pair of stilettos clapping on the floor. “Whoa, Hummel, you okay?” Santana asks when she reaches him.

“No, why should I be okay?”

“Because you look exactly like you did back when Karofsky was harassing you, like you want everything in the world to make its way into a gigantic fiery ball.”

He boards the elevator when it opens and leans against the wall, defeated. “Why does everything in my life have to fall apart?” he sobs. “I get to New York, Blaine cheats on me. We get engaged, Finn dies. We start planning our wedding, I get hurt and now have to fucking cancel our honeymoon because ‘it’s too much for me’.”

“Hey, hey, look at me,” she says, placing her hands on his shoulders. “That’s just how fucked up life is. You think I wanted my abuela to disown me when I came out? You think I wanted college to be a horrifying enough experience that I left behind a full-ride scholarship to move out here with no plans and nowhere to live? You think I want to watch Brittany wither her life away at MIT when she could be showing off her brains _and_ her dance skills here? To quote a fantastic diva we love, hell to the no.” Santana stands taller to meet his eyes. “Look at it this way; you have probably the perfect man by your side, and if he had to choose between you being strong enough to no longer need these trees under your arms or a week of nonstop kinky sex in Mexico? You know damn well Blainers would choose you over the honeymoon.”

He slowly nods. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right,” she smirks. “Now come on, let’s get you home. It’s not like you really needed Cancun for all the kinky sex you two have anyway.”

“Oh, my god, why am I friends with you again?” Kurt groans.

* * *

Blaine has spent the entire weekend overwhelmed by the support of his friends and family. His parents flew out for the first night and sat front row cheering him on as the lead Isaac - with Kurt a few rows back, still fearful of being too close to the stage. Saturday included Sam and Mercedes, Santana, and Rachel after she secured a night away from _Funny Girl_. Tonight it’s Artie and Kitty who’ve taken in the performance, and they’re all smiles when he greets them in the lobby.

“Guys, thanks for coming, your support means so much,” he says as he embraces both of them.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Artie replies, “although in your bio I’m a little perturbed you didn’t thank your high school drama director for supporting you on your path to greatness.”

Kitty playfully shoves Artie’s shoulder. “And to think it’s usually the actors with the huge egos. You were really good, Blaine.”

“Thank you,” Blaine smiles. “You two up for a bite to eat once I can get out of here? There’s a cafe a couple blocks east that a lot of the students hit, but it shouldn’t be too bad being Sunday.”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Artie says. “We’ll meet you there, okay?”

“Sure thing. Turn onto 71st and it’ll be on the left, it’s called Charlie’s.”

“Alright. See ya!” Artie begins wheeling away with Kitty following and waving back to Blaine. He waves back and turns to a freshman he remembers from auditions, though she didn’t make the cast, and greets her.

It takes longer than expected to get through the crowd, as many of the professors showed up today. Blaine meets with the ones who’ve helped him out these last three years, and a few he’s expecting to mentor him in his senior year. By the time he can leave school it’s nearly 6, over half an hour since Artie and Kitty headed out. He jogs down the street and makes it to Charlie’s only to find Kitty standing in front of the window.

“There was a slight emergency…Artie’s partner on his final project called and said all the footage they’ve gotten was wiped off the memory card,” she explains. “He said he’s sorry and he’ll make it up to you when the semester’s over.”

“That’s fine,” Blaine says. “You stuck around though.”

“What, like I’m the type of girl who would bail on an invitation for food?”

“Of course not. After you, my lady.” He opens the door for her and follows her to a booth in the back.

They spend much of dinner talking about the younger members of New Directions. Jake is doing well at Joffrey, though he’d already known that from Mike. Ryder is still in Lima attending community college for a bit to get his grades up. Unique moved to Georgia for school and is balancing her drama classes and her sorority responsibilities with no sweat. Marley is at the University of Cincinnati’s music school, learning the ropes of the industry while remaining near her mom. They’ve all sent their RSVPs for the wedding, and Blaine can’t wait to spend time with everyone again.

“It’s funny,” Kitty says after she finishes off her bacon cheeseburger, “if anyone had told me how much fun my sophomore year of high school would be thanks to a lame show choir, I’d probably have slapped them silly.”

“Who are you calling lame?” Blaine asks.

“Our lead soloist who once made a puppet of everyone in the room.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t bring it to New York with you.”

“Of course I didn’t,” she huffs, “but I might when I fly back out in June.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet.”

“I know.” Kitty pauses for a moment and swirls the straw in her Diet Coke. “I’m sorry.”

Blaine raises an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For my assumptions about you when we first met during _Grease_. You know how I’d been brought up in the church and Sunday school, where they always said being gay was the biggest sin. The first gay guy I ended up interacting with regularly was this overdramatic, flamboyant kid who couldn’t get over his ex-boyfriend, and it scared me.”

“I…okay?”

“And then I got to know you, between New Directions and the Cheerios, and I found out that you’re the awesome, smart, hella talented guy who happens to wear his heart on his sleeve. And just because your heart has ‘property of Kurt Hummel’ glued on it in hot pink with fireworks shooting out of it doesn’t make you any less a person than me.” She smiles softly and fixes her ponytail. “So thank you for breaking my prejudice.”

“Then you’re welcome,” he says, reaching across and squeezing her hand. “I guess I should apologize for considering you a manipulative bitch when we first met as well.”

“Oh, no, I’m still a manipulative bitch, come on,” Kitty laughs. She continues on. “This year has also given me a chance to get to know Kurt, and all I have to say is he and I would have torn Lima up had we known each other there.”

Blaine chuckles. “Well, there was that time at the Lima Bean when you attacked him.”

“It was my job to be rude then!”

“He thought he was going to get fired that day because of you.” Blaine remembers a lot about those few days before he pushed Kurt to come to New York, back before everything changed and brought them to where they are now.

“But he didn’t.”

“True.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, you’ve got a good man that I’m proud to call a friend, whether he likes it or not. And he’s actually inspired me as well.”

“Really?” Blaine asks.

Kitty nods. “Yeah. I did my registration for fall semester a couple weeks ago and I was finally able to declare my major. I’m going into physical therapy.”

Blaine nearly drops his fork midbite. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely,” she says. “It’s always been a consideration - you know, paraplegic boyfriend and all - but seeing him going through these last six months and not giving up, even as much as he bitched that first night after he started therapy and all the fights he had with Artie about the wheelchair? It’s incredible, and I want to be a part of someone’s story like that.”

“That’s amazing, Kitty!” he says brightly. “He’ll be touched that you decided that. Congratulations!”

She beams. “Thank you. Only Artie and my parents have known, so it’s good to finally open up about it.”

“Oh, of course. And maybe sometime before you head back to Lima you can go to a session with him, meet his therapist and ask him some questions? Joey wouldn’t mind at all.”

“Yeah, if I can work it into studying I will.”

The server comes to collect their plates and drop the bill off. “I feel like I owe all of you something for helping out so much,” Blaine says. “It’s been one hell of a year, but it’s taught me that friendship can go above and beyond in the worst of times. That’s not something I ever had in my life.”

“You mean like a Tiffany’s necklace?” Kitty asks jokingly.

“How about some ice cream right now and I’ll go back with you to your dorm?”

“That’ll work, too.”

He pulls some cash out to pay the bill and they depart, arms linked and friendship tighter than before. Who knew the blonde cheerleader who stole boyfriends and forced people into eating disorders could have grown to become an integral part of their New York life?

* * *

A knock on the door breaks everyone out of their thoughts. “Come in,” Kurt says, checking the mirror and straightening his tie for approximately the sixteenth time.

“Kurt, no!” Rachel hisses. “It could be Blaine and you know that’s bad luck.”

“Don’t worry, it’s me.” Tina enters the room and quickly closes the door behind her, careful not to damage her sapphire blue gown. “The boys have decided to watch one of their superhero movies and quote it word for word. I had to get out of there.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding,” he groans.

“I wish. Sam thinks this will calm him down.” She perches down on the loveseat next to Santana. “How are you feeling? Ready to be a married man?”

Kurt beams. “You don’t know how much. I think I’ve been waiting for this day since our first kiss.”

“And your legs are holding up, too?”

“I hope so,” he sighs. Therapy has not been kind, and his sessions this week were grueling and tear-inducing. It’s not so much the walking as it is being able to stand at the altar for the duration of the ceremony now. His dad is insisting on following with the wheelchair just in case, and Joey was nearly beat down for insisting he use his new cane as support, yet Kurt is determined not to need either. This is his day.

“I can’t believe two of us are getting married,” Rachel says. “It’s a dream come true.”

“Funny how you’ve forgotten your aborted wedding back in high school,” Santana quips.

“That’s not what I mean.” She glides over to where Kurt is seated and wraps her arms around him. “People always say you won’t work out with your high school sweetheart. Four couples between us, and now one is proving that they’re making it.”

“Okay, and what does that make me and Britt?”

“I’m sorry, Santana. What I’m trying to say is…you know, after Finn died, I kind of lost all hope for love.” She wipes a tear forming, and Kurt immediately hands her a tissue from the vanity. “There were times in those first few months that, while I listened to everything Kurt had to say about Blaine’s day, I hurt so much. I thought for a time if I can’t have my love, why should I be happy for anyone else? But these two are everything Finn and I probably never could have been.”

“Rach, honey, that’s not true,” Kurt says.”

Rachel waves him off. “No, I’m serious. Look at this past year. Had I gone through even half of what you have, Finn would have begun complaining about doing things for me by the end of the first month. Blaine never did that. He’s stood by your side, day in and day out, and not once has he badmouthed you or whined that you wanted this particular brand of cheese over the one he bought. You two are what love is all about - in sickness and in health, always there for each other. And you’ve made me believe again.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “I’ve been out on a couple dates lately, just nothing that can evolve into a relationship. It’s different, you know?”

“I don’t know, singledom isn't all that bad,” Tina says. “Do you really want to be tied down and not have the luxury of hooking up with people? That’s nice too.”

Kurt looks back and forth between Rachel and Santana. “What are you even talking about?”

“Oh, I think I know,” Santana grins. “I thought Boy Chang looked a little too happy at the rehearsal dinner last night.”

Tina’s jaw drops and she flushes beet red. “Shut up, Santana!”

“Hold on a sec,” Kurt says, “you and Mike are hooking up at my wedding?”

“Well, it’s tradition, isn’t it? You and Blaine did it!” She finally begins to break into laughter. “Don’t worry, we are done. He’s joining a touring ballet company, so even if we wanted to pursue something again we’d never see each other. It’s better for us to stay friends.”

“We’ll remember this conversation at your wedding in five years,” Rachel smirks. She ducks out of the way as Tina throws one of the decorative pillows at her.

The door opens again and Kurt sees his father step through. “Hey, you’ve got about ten minutes,” Burt announces.

“That means I should get back and make sure Blaine hasn’t passed out,” Tina says. She makes her way over and hugs Kurt tightly. “Congratulations, babe. I’m so happy for the both of you.”

“Thank you,” he replies. She departs and he turns to his dad. “Any last second advice?”

Burt shrugs. “Don’t be nervous. You know you two have this down. But just in case your leg starts giving out…”

“I know, Dad, and I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I love you, kid, and I’m proud of you, for everything you’ve done.”

“Thank you.” He glances at his reflection one final time and adjusts the tie again. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

Blaine feels his entire twenty-one years have been leading up to this moment. From the first few summers at home watching his mother’s favorite soap operas during her vacation to every Disney animation, he knew one day he’d fall in love and marry a beautiful man. Even after he realized the controversy behind that, as he suffered through his father’s reluctance at his coming out and the tragic night that sent him to Dalton Academy, nothing changed that dream.

And now it’s happening. His best friend, his partner, his entire world is moments away from coming down the aisle and taking his hand. He doesn’t care if Kurt is able to walk the entire way or if Burt ends up demanding he use the wheelchair - it’s still happening.

He thinks back to the first few hours after he learned found out Kurt was the one injured, about the dread and fear that he was losing the love of his life. To the days after, when Dr. Woolerey was dubious on Kurt’s intent to be walking today. To the weeks of Kurt bemoaning his pain, his inability to do simple tasks, and how much he missed his previous life. To the nightmares and Kurt’s confession that he was done with acting - of course Blaine understands, and he’d probably do the same. Thankfully Madame Tibideaux honored Kurt with a degree despite missing the final semester and a half, because he deserved to know how well he could have done on stage.

But it’s their future that matters now. Kurt’s recovery, Blaine’s completion of college, being there at Rachel’s next big show, standing up for Sam and Mercedes at their wedding (whenever he realizes he shouldn’t be scared to propose to her), attending Artie’s first movie premiere, convincing Quinn and Puck to move to New York because they’re ready for fatherhood and need her closer - it’s all waiting for them.

The doors to the reception hall open as Rachel and Santana walk through, coming down the aisle to the beat of the string quartet they convinced from school to do the ceremony for a hundred apiece. They look stunning in their blue dresses, as does Tina to his left, and they give him warm smiles as they take their positions, turning with the guests as the musicians transition into their version of Come What May.

When Kurt appears in the threshold Blaine feels his heart skip a beat. It takes him a second to take his first step forward, slowly and carefully. There’s now a limp due to the rod in his right leg, and Dr. Woolerey has said it could be permanent. But it doesn’t matter; Kurt is walking in his wedding, and Blaine cannot be any happier.

“Dude, you’re crying,” Sam whispers in his ear.

“I don’t care,” Blaine hisses, never taking his eyes off Kurt.

Kurt has to pause about two thirds of the way down. Burt, following behind with the wheelchair, asks if he wants to stop, but Kurt refuses. He finally gains the energy to complete the walk, and Blaine reaches for his hand when he makes it to the first row of seats, guiding him the rest of the way.

“Hi,” Blaine says softly as they settle into their places.

“Hi,” Kurt replies, smiling.

Their officiant smiles at them and begins. “Friends, family, loved ones. We have gathered here today to celebrate the love of two extraordinary young men. Together they have dealt with adversity, fought their demons, drifted apart and reunited, and proven to all, especially recently, that love can conquer what life throws at you. Kurt and Blaine have asked to recite their own vows, and I shall concede to them now. Kurt, you may go first.”

“Thank you.” Kurt stares at Blaine, causing his stomach to refill with the butterflies that invaded this morning. “Blaine, you know I don’t believe in any higher being, but something, somewhere, brought us together on those steps. There were so many others I could have interrupted and asked about the Warblers to, yet it was you I found. You with your enormous heart hiding behind a mask of maturity and honor - how was I supposed to know back then you’re younger than me?” Everyone laughs at Kurt’s joke, and Blaine shakes his head. “I looked up to you, figuratively, of course, as you helped me get a hold of my new school. Some even called it a hopeless crush, but I was adamant that one day you would get it together and notice me. And you did, and it’s been a thrilling roller coaster ever since.

“You’ve been there through all the highs and lows in my life these past six years; you’ve even caused a couple of them yourself. But you’ve proven your love to me since that day in October when everything changed for us. So many people thought I wouldn’t be able to stand up here today, they tried to convince me that we should push the wedding back or that I should accept the assistance provided. You believed in me, though; you pushed me to get better, you didn’t let me give up when the pain was too unbearable, and now here we are, giving ourselves to each other and starting a new life. We’re no longer just Kurt and Blaine, we’re a family. A family I will be proud to be a part of until the day I die.”

Blaine tries to hold his tears in to no avail, and he has to pull a handkerchief out of his pocket. “I hate you,” he mutters as he dabs at his eyes.

The officiant turns to him. “Blaine, do you need a moment?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” he says.

“Okay, then, whenever you’re ready.”

“Alright.” He puts the handkerchief back and takes Kurt’s hands again. “Kurt, meeting you opened my eyes to the world. I thought I saw things happening and where my life was headed. You changed it. You took my reality that was black and white and introduced the most vibrant colors. I could no longer go anywhere without seeing the blue of your eyes in the sky or the shade of green in your brooch of that day. You consumed me, with your talent, with your drive, and most of all, with your personality. Even before I woke up and knew I was in deep, so many of my daydreams revolved around you. Falling in love with you is probably the easiest thing that has ever happened. And I’m never going to be able to stop.”

Blaine notices Kurt start to tremble, and he pulls him closer. “Ever since October, when you landed in the hospital, you’ve shown me strength and courage that I had never seen in the five years before. I’ve watched you grow stronger and fight back against your prognosis, and you’ve proven everyone wrong by standing up here today. I never thought this was possible, but I’ve fallen in love with you all over again as you’ve recovered and become yourself again. We’re starting a new journey today, side by side, and no matter where life takes us I know everything will be okay, because you’re going to be right next to me, my husband for all eternity.”

Behind him, Tina sniffles. “You guys…” she says, causing the guests to erupt in laughter again.

“Alright, everyone,” the officiant says to calm the crowd down. “Now that we’ve heard what they have to say, may we have the rings?”

Blaine waits for Sam, who doesn’t move. He nudges him. “C’mon.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Sam pulls a box out of his jacket and retrieves the platinum band for Blaine. “Here you go.”

“Wonderful. Kurt, please take Blaine’s hand and repeat after me: with this ring, I thee wed.”

Kurt slips an identical ring onto Blaine’s finger, a moment that freezes in his mind. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

The officiant nods. “Blaine, you may do the same. With this ring, I thee wed.”

“With this ring,” he begins, slipping it on top of the engagement ring, “I thee wed.” He chokes out the final words as he finally allows himself to cry.

“By the power vested in me through the state of New York, I pronounce you legally wed. You may kiss your husband.”

Blaine surges forward before the officiant even finishes and locks lips with Kurt. The cheers and celebration are only a dim background noise as they revel in their new wedded bliss. “I love you,” he says as they part.

“I love you too,” Kurt replies. He’s begun crying as well, possibly harder than Blaine.

“Are you ready to head out of here?”

“Of course.” Kurt links his arm through Blaine’s and they march down the aisle together, step by step towards their new life.


End file.
